Like Father, Like Daughter
by Nikkel
Summary: A collection of oneshots, drabbles, and everything in between, featuring the dark, and often misunderstood, relationship of a Phoenix and a Dragon... Ozai and Azula. NOT incest.
1. It Takes Two to Tango

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**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

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**It Takes Two to Tango**

She looked into the courtyard and smirked. Good. It was empty.

Azula crossed the lawn, searching for a space where she wouldn't hit or collide with anything if she fell—not that she _would _fall. Stopping, she moved herself into a martial arts stance, and began to practice.

The young prodigy believed she was doing an excellent job compared to her brother Zuko. She had spied on his firebending lesson (needless to say, _again_), where he was still struggling with the basic form, and was indignant and impatient on learning the more advanced moves. Azula flowed through the kata like a natural, using her breath to time and control her pace, and not blunder through it like Zuko did.

Azula went through the form several times, wanting to make sure it was flawless. It was a kata she hadn't been taught yet by her firebending teachers, but just from watching Zuko train, she knew where each step and punch was. She even congratulated herself by shooting off a small fireball from her knuckles at the end.

The sound of somebody clapping caught her off-guard, and with her hands raised in defense she spun around, automatically challenging her lone spectator. The moment she saw the tall, regal form of her father, though, she dropped her hands and relaxed. He was smiling.

"That was a well performance." Ozai complimented. "Wherever did you learn it?"

The little firebender's mouth went dry. She had been suspected of spying on Zuko's lessons before, and had always been punished for it. She never could understand as to why, really. She took every opportunity to learn about firebending that she could.

"I made it up." She lied.

"Really now?" The Prince's eyes flickered with amusement. "You're certain that you didn't _steal_ it from your brother's training? You know how your mother hates it when you spy on him."

"Nope. I made it all up." Azula lied once more, this time beaming a wide, confident smile. Ozai felt as if he could laugh. He could see right through her, and knew that she was lying, but she played the part out so well! How could he not go along with it? Unlike Ursa and Iroh, he didn't see the harm in Azula watching Zuko's lessons. It was just another way to learn.

"Can you do the form one more time, Azula?" He asked. Azula's smile curved into a smirk and she did as she was told. The fireball at the end of the kata shot forward from her knuckles and across the courtyard, and disintegrated in midair, leaving nothing but a puff of grey smoke behind.

"Very good, _very _good." Ozai crowed, and chuckled lightly. "But, there is one thing."

"What?"

"Get into the final position. I have something I would like to teach you." He explained. Azula did as she was told. Ozai walked towards her and leaned over her shoulder, grabbing her hand and pulling it upwards so they could both see. He forced her index and middle fingers out, making sure that they were straight. "Extending your first two fingers has a marvelous effect for firebenders, more specifically females. Now, try firebending again."

He released her, and Azula went into position. She took a moment, drew in a sharp breath, and then thrust her leg out to emphasize the release of flame. Fire jetted from her fingertips, and this time, the flame lasted longer and flew almost to the other side of the courtyard; far better than her original shot.

"Did I do it right?" She asked, looking up at the shadowy figure of her father for approval. Ozai nodded, excited flames dancing behind his eyes. The fire twisted and jumped with curiosity and desire, discovering quite an admirable talent in his daughter. This time, when he smiled, he showed his teeth—and looked unmistakably like a dragon about to devour a meal.

"It was _perfect_."


	2. King of the Hill

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**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

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**King of the Hill**

"Mom, may I _please_ go?" Azula whined, and tugged hopefully on her mother's sleeve.

"I'm sorry, dear, but you can't. Zuko's teacher is very strict about these things." Ursa replied.

"Yeah," Zuko added, stepping between the two, arms crossed. "Remember the _last _time you came into town with us?"

"It's not _my_ fault that platypus-bear wanted to eat you." Azula shrugged.

"Liar…" He grunted.

"And this is between me and mom, so zip it, dumb-dumb."

"I really am sorry, Azula, but you have to stay here." Ursa said, and smiled weakly, sympathetically. "Perhaps you could go practice your firebending."

"Will you watch me later?"

"Yes." Ursa replied, smiling, but Azula sensed that she was lying. She never watched her; only in the Fire Lord's chamber when she was performing for her grandfather. Azula glared at her and reluctantly bowed her head, watching the two of them leave into the city to meet with Zuko's firebending teacher. The young girl wrinkled her nose in disapproval, crossed her arms, and huffed loudly as she turned back into the palace. She should be happy that _she _didn't have to attend meetings concerning _her _firebending. She guessed that the meeting probably would have been boring anyway.

However, without a brother to torment or friends to boss around, Azula quickly realized that the air around her had settled into a disturbing calm. She had already practiced her two regular hours of firebending (if not a little longer), and thus the chi she had conserved throughout most of the day was spent. She knew that she could force the firebending out of her and strengthen her endurance, but she didn't want to look like Zuko; he was constantly practicing and failing, making a fool of himself. _Dumb-dumb_, she thought, _doing that will waste all his energy. And when he needs it, he won't have it_. Azula recognized herself as a conservative, and used it to her advantage.

But the problem still remained. Trudging alone through the imperial halls, a disgruntled look on her face, Azula's toes kicked the air as she walked, annoyed with the monotonous silence that surrounded her so. She didn't like listening to what her thoughts had to say to her. They made her want to firebend without mercy and destroyed everything. In other words, she didn't like to think about her mother and Zuko.

"Hello there."

Azula looked up to find her father at the opposite end of the corridor.

"Hi dad."

"Why are you wandering the corridors alone?" Ozai approached his daughter, a vast height difference between the two. Azula only came up to his waist, and the sun was angled so she stood in his shadow. She had to squint to see his face. He placed a large hand on her small head. "Where is your mother? Hopefully she's—"

"She's with Zuko." Azula said shortly, spitefully, and pushed her father's hand off her head. Ozai allowed it to fall to his side. Azula was angry, refusing to look him in the eye, and glaring at an inanimate marble vase, expecting the panda-lilies in it to burst into flames. Ozai placed his hand on her again, but this time, on her shoulder.

"You've been to the Royal Throne Room, correct?" He asked, his thumb rubbing against her shoulder. Their golden eyes met, matching perfectly, though Azula's narrowed in suspicion.

"Yes…"

"Have you ever been there while your grandfather was…_ away_?" Ozai taunted, and watched his daughter's eyes widen with interest. It was only for a second, as they returned to their suspicious state.

"Why would he be away? He's the Fire Lord."

"He is in the War Chamber with your uncle and his generals for a meeting. The Throne Room is empty."

"Why would I want to go anyways? It's always hot and stuffy and smells like old people."

"Come now, Azula." Ozai sighed nonchalantly, but smirked. "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to sit on grandfather's throne? _Be_ Fire Lord?"

His sly words had a peculiar effect on the little prodigy. She opened her mouth, closed it, looked away from her father, and then back at him, a familiar glimmer of deviancy in her eyes.

"Sure." She said smugly, and with a large hand on her back, Ozai walked his daughter to the Royal Throne Room. With ease the Prince pushed the heavy, oak doors aside, revealing the dark chamber within. The fire along the raised pedestal was not lit because the Fire Lord was not present. The only light came from the open door, for the room did not even have windows.

"I can't see." Azula frowned.

"Patience, Azula, patience." Ozai replied, and continued to lead his daughter into the chamber. The light seemed to fade as they approached the mighty throne, carved from the finest Fire Nation materials, flawless and dark, red mahogany. The golden dragon on the wall behind the throne was shadowed and hollow, as if knowing that its master was away; it was sleeping until he returned. Ozai stopped before the platform where there was supposed to be a wall of fire, but there was nothing but soot and coal in the ash trays. In silent awe Azula stared at the noble place of the king, and Ozai snickered.

"Would you like to try it?" He asked.

"Try what?"

"Sitting on the throne, my dear." He replied, and with a grand movement motioned up to the seat. "There can be no higher position."

"Yes." Azula grinned darkly. Ozai bent down and picked her up beneath the arms and lifted her over the pedestal. She sat down on the large, plump cushion; the seat of the Fire Lord. She seemed to survey the room like a queen, pursing her lips and eyes like daggers, searching for some vagrant to punish. It pleased Ozai to see her in such a noble position. Another devious look surpassed her features, and she looked at her father again and asked, "May I light the fire?"

"Of course." Ozai replied. "What would a Fire Lord be without their fire?"

Azula stood up and shot a jet of hot, orange flame into the pit, and soon the whole pedestal was ablaze. Sitting down on the throne she felt the scorching heat against her face, coming in pulses and waves, emanating power. She sucked in the energy it gave her, filling the void within like the sun did on a bright day, deeply breathing it and absorbing it to the maximum. Smiling wickedly, shadows hollowing her eyes and darkening her cheeks, she looked past the scarlet inferno and to her father, looking proud, pleased with her work. It was in that moment that a dream to please Ozai and become Fire Lord was born.


	3. Lesson Learned

N o w , I think it's about time I included an author's note. I wanted to announce that like other oneshots series, this one will also expand into different kinds of formats, time periods, et cetera; for example, there will be shots of when Azula is younger, shots after the war, shots in modern AU, and the like. Maybe even a poem or two. This helps break the standard boundaries of _just _the Avatar world and allow some more creativity flow. Also, as you may notice as the chapters progress, they'll more than likely become more interesting, and you'll probably like them more and more. This is because like any story, the first few chapters are just breaking in, and need to grow. I have several other chapters that are already written which I prefer over these ones, but I prefer to go in the chronological order I wrote them.

( A n d for some bloody reason, the format for the chapter won't align left. I've tried getting it to, but it simply won't. Stupid document.)

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**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

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**Lesson Learned**

Fire Lord Ozai was a powerful man. He had the strength of a volcano at the edge of his fingertips and the mind of an ingenious devil behind his callous face. He was the king of the Fire Nation, and no regular man dared to challenge his iron will, forged from years of anger and brutality. It seemed that he so far had single-handedly fought the grievous Hundred-Years War, eliminating town after town, village after village, incinerating them by the might of the Fire Nation army. When the Avatar awakened and threatened Ozai, he knew that he had to show his royal spirit and break him. The Fire Lord was unstoppable and exact in his movements, but he saw no limit to his power. Thus, Ozai made it a promise to himself to be the strongest man in the world; above the Avatar. And he needed practice, he needed experience.

Other than the Avatar, there seemed to be only one match worthy enough to compare with the Fire Lord's. Ozai's daughter Azula, master of manipulation and cold-blooded killer of spirit and dreams, wielded the blue-fire dragon as an extension of herself, of her heartless soul, if given one. She was an icy, cerulean replica of Ozai's magma persona, and had no fear to back down from a challenge. It was her desire to please her father, whatever the deed be, and show that she could rightfully be by his side as he claimed the world and shaped it in his own image. All of that meant that she, too, needed practice and experience.

"Face me, Azula!" Ozai cried, thrusting his hands forward and unleashing a pillar of fire. "Show your face to the enemy!"

Azula dodged the pillar and set herself on the limestone of the palace arena; the main site for firebending. Her fingers sparked and a jet of blue flame swirled at Ozai's feet. He backed away and extinguished the flames with his own, grinning with arrogant pride and waiting for his daughter's next attack. But it was clear to see that Azula was exhausted, blue flames weakening to read ones, her hair falling out of place, and her face smothered with ashes. Instead of shouting back like a certain traitorous brother would have, she lowered her head and leaped from her spot, firing off another flume of sapphire blaze.

"You're getting weak, Azula! Do you want to end up like your brother?!" Ozai shouted, and suddenly Azula blasted him with a raging inferno of white and cobalt. He threw his head back and cackled at the attack, easily throwing up a wall of fire and blocking her. What he didn't see, however, was that Azula came right behind the fire and sailed through it, slamming her heel into his jaw, knocking him down. With a swift kick she raised him in the air again and began to relentlessly beat him left and right, up and down, a flurry of punches and kicks as she avoided his panicked retaliations. She was smooth and articulate in her attacks, forcing and blocking him so much that she was able to draw him against the back wall. Her nails dug into his shoulder as her hand drew back, igniting.

"Would you like to repeat that?" She hissed, seething, amber eyes burning with rage. Ozai frowned at her, glaring, and saw the flame in her hand grow brighter.

"Do you _realize_ who you're talking to?" He snarled, insulted with what his daughter had said and done. He refused to be at her mercy, and clenched his hands into fists, burning knuckles of ember, and flames coiled like serpents up his arms, over his shoulders, and around his neck. "Have you lost your decency? Your _respect_ for your father? Because if you have, I will punish you _worse _than I ever did Zuko. I will annihilate you and leave you with nothing _but _a _scar_."

Azula shrank back as her father rose up. The flame evaporated in her hand, and the next thing she knew was that her face was against the wall and her wrists behind her back, preventing her from bending. Ozai, with one hand, clamped her arms together and leaned over to whisper in her ear,

"Do not forget your basics, Azula." And with that, a small smile twinged on his lips. "Lesson number one: Never let your guard down."


	4. Resolutions

W o o ! Posting flurry! This story, "There's No Such Thing", "The Blue Storm" and "The Noble Truth" once my beta replies to me, and also something very very special. Well, maybe not that special, but it's just something I've had in mind.

N o w . I originally had a different chapter planned, but I saw New Year's coming up and figured, "Hey, why not.". So. Although it's not Chinese New Year's, I've applied some of the elements to this. Also, this is one of the chapters I was talking about, where my writing with Ozai and Azula's interactions have somewhat evolved. Perhaps you can tell.

O h . And I don't even understand what Ozai says at the end there, it just sounds like something he would say. Very Ozai-ish. Him and his mysteriousness of the whole series and all. Oh well. Maybe you can get him xD

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**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

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**Resolutions**

Long after the celebrations were over, the air still smelled significantly of firework smoke. The parades and their colorful chains of dragons had retired after the clock struck twelve, the nine-day-long festival finally yawning and allowing the New Year to rest. People collapsed from the lively parties and wild events, wrapped in their yearly tradition, and embracing it like a child, filled with life, laughter, and the potential for a healthy future. Prayers and wishes had been made at Spirit altars for good luck and fortune.

It was the same for the royal family. Behind the palace they trepaised to their private shrine, weary from the month's events, but finally happy to see it come to a close and relax. Ozai led the train while Azula followed right behind him, nearly stepping on his robes, as Ursa followed behind her and carried a dozing Zuko. Unlike most of the commoners' shrines, within the imperial altar was quite a bit of floor space, enough for the family of four, to grab pillows and sit down on. Other than the entryway, obsidian gravestones aligned the walls of the small temple, filled with the ancient writing and names of ancestors passed. Incense and sugarcane burned, and the aroma of tea filled the air. Ozai poured each person a cup accordingly, handing it out as was the tradition. Somewhere a loud firecracker went off, and an excited whoop followed.

"I really don't see the point of being here," Azula complained. "Zuko's falling asleep anyways."

Zuko snapped his head up, suddenly wide awake. "Am not!"

"Children please, let's not fight this late. We're in a religious shrine, you don't want to upset the Spirits. Drink your tea," Ursa cut in tiredly. Zuko and Azula frowned, but complied appropriately.

"Now," Ozai began, taking charge. "We're here to discuss our resolutions. It's a part of our family tradition to be in this altar tonight. To fulfill our resolutions will prove ourselves better characters, symbols of the Fire Nation. The Spirits did not bear us for the purpose of letting them down."

Zuko raised his hand. "What's a resolution?"

"It's basically a promise to yourself," Ursa replied. "Who would like to start?"

"I would." Azula stood with her hands on her hips and tilted her nose into the air. "And my resolution is to be Fire Lord!"

"You can't be Fire Lord!" Zuko shouted immediately shouted. "Fire Lord Azulon's still alive, and then Uncle Iroh will be the next one! You're a girl anyways!"

"They'll be dead soon enough! I can be Fire Lord, can't I dad?"

"But that's not a resolution!"

"Your brother is right, Azula," Ozai stated, and Azula pouted and stuck her tongue out at her brother. "Sit down. Perhaps you can tell us something, Ursa."

"Certainly. My resolution is what it has always been—to continue to care for and love this family of mine."

"That's boring, mom." Azula sighed.

"Yeah, how does that have anything to do with New Year's if you've got the same resolution?" Zuko asked.

"Well, it's because it's true." Ursa smiled. "I do care for and love all of you. And anything that's true is something you should keep continual."

"So... does that mean if I keep my resolution as Fire Lord for a long time, I'll eventually be it?" Azula questioned hopefully.

"If you put it that way..." Ursa said slowly, now thinking about what she had just said. "I suppose. It's a little farfetched, but..."

"Ha!" Azula smugged at her brother. Zuko grunted and crossed his arms.

"Cheater," he muttered.

"Then if you're so picky about resolutions, what's yours?"

Zuko suddenly looked very nervous, bright red creeping to his cheeks as his neck shrunk in his shoulders. "I... I haven't really thought of one."

"Come on, honey. I'm certain you can think of something. It can be anything you like," Ursa said. Zuko's face screwed up in concentration.

"Well... I guess I could try to get better at my bending."

"That sounds like a good resolution, Zuko." Ursa tilted her tea cup at him, and then looked at her husband. "Don't you think so, dear?"

"Indeed," Ozai smirked, also tilting his cup. "I don't quite have a resolution either, but I have made a promise to myself."

His family looked curiously at him.

"I promised that I would light the fire and carry the flame of this family. From what I've seen, this has been done."

Ursa, Zuko, and Azula made glances at one another, unsure of what it meant. Only Ozai was the one smiling, knowing exactly what he meant by "fire" and "flame". He raised his tea and drank the rest, his family following, honoring the Spirits, who watched them. They could only bow their heads in shame for what the Prince had wished.


	5. How It Made Me Smile

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**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

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**How It Made Me Smile**

The Prince was hard at work. Ozai hunched over his desk, brush in hand, scrutinizing the paper before him. His eyes read speedily across the document, analyzing the information, and becoming irritable with its contents. A governor within the Fire Nation colonies in the Earth Kingdom was asking for a platoon of soldiers to destroy an uprising rebellion. Ozai could easily tell that the governor had been frightened, his handwriting shaky and nervous. The man was probably too weak to support himself and his colony, so _of course _there was rebellion.

Another piece of paper was attached to the governor's request. Ozai recognized it as his brother's illegible chicken scratch, but poking through the badly-written script, it appeared that Iroh was willing to administer a platoon to the governor. Ozai snorted and tossed his brush aside, frustrated with his older brother. He hated the fact that Iroh was General, and that most military decisions rested on his shoulders. The young phoenix then saw the entire worthlessness of the governor's request—why should he, Ozai, who was not even _involved _with the military, have to ratify his brother's decisions? Was it because they were both princes, sons of the throne that they had to do everything with one another's consent? Ozai did not even have power in the military department, so what was the point of being sent the document?

"Han!" Ozai barked, lifting his head up towards the door of his study. A sentry came bursting in, looking disheveled, and Ozai's perpetual scowl (if more) became worse. His voice turned deadly cold and dark. "Where is Han? Why has he given me this unscrupulous document?"

The guard fixed his helmet and stood up straight, saluting. "Uh, my name is Xi Fan. Han isn't here because General Iroh has requested him in his office, so I took his post."

Ozai's fist clenched in rage.

"Out." He said icily. "Out."

Xi Fan left, and Ozai's right hand scrunched up the governor's letter and incinerated it so it was but a pile of ashes. Oh, how at that moment he despised his brother (dare he even call him that!), and longed to wring his neck in revenge. He wanted nothing more than to duel him in an Agni Kai and put him in his place. Ozai grinned at the manically sadistic thought, but at the same time, felt that an Agni Kai was not enough. He wanted Iroh to suffer.

The Prince twitched in surprise as he heard a knock on the door. He whipped his gaze to it, hoping it was Iroh. He was in the mood for a fight.

"Come in!" He snarled. The gold knob twisted and the door opened, revealing a very pale-faced Zuko. His son, his weakling of a spawn, looked as if he was going to cry again. Ozai's face did not soften. In fact, it hardened into an even angrier look. "What is it you want?"

"Um…" Zuko stuttered and looked at his shoes. He was afraid to meet eyes with his father. "Am I adopted?"

Ozai paused, considering his answer. The eight year-old may as well have been adopted, through his eyes.

"Who told you that?" He asked slowly.

"Azula."

Ozai turned his back away from his son, hands clasped behind his back. A very cruel smile widened his lips.

"Yes…" He replied. "You were. Your mother didn't want you to know or else you would never be heir to the throne."

Zuko squeaked and vanished from the spot. The moment he was gone, Ozai threw his head back and howled with malevolent laughter. Oh, how he loved his daughter. He and Azula thought so much alike, and so much to the point it was as if she had read his mind.


	6. Second to None

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**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

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**Second to None**

It was difficult for the young Princess to sit still. She squirmed in her seat, armor shifting, rattling throughout the enclosed room. She was clearly excited, eager to stride out the door and down the corridor, wanting to hold her high as she stepped onto the Agni Kai platform.

"Nervous?" Ozai's lips curled into a smile.

"No," Azula replied, "I'll beat her."

"To the death?"

"Yup!" Azula grinned, brimming with confidence. "Just like at the coliseum you showed me!"

"Well don't make it too bloody, I don't think the administrators would like a child murderer in their school."

"Oh, okay..." Azula sighed. Her short legs hung off the side of the bench, unable to touch the floor, kicking them back and forth. "But why can't I keep training with you? I like you as my sifu."

Ozai stroked her smooth, charcoal hair that was wound up tightly in a topknot. "Because you need the experience. To be with others, your own age. The Royal Fire Academy for Girls is the perfect opportunity."

"I still don't see why I have to try out. We're royalty!"

Ozai just laughed. Even for a little girl, she had so much nationalism, so much pride. "I'm going to be very busy soon. Once your Uncle Iroh comes home from the war, of course."

"How come?"

"That, my dearest Azula," Ozai grinned, showing canines and winking, "is a little secret."

As if on cue, a gong from the arena reverberated throughout the entire coliseum. Azula leapt to her feet, Ozai following like a proper adult behind her. The bright sunlight shimmered down through the open roof onto the ivory and marble platform, polished gold, glimmering around the edges. It was a smaller platform and arena than the one the adults used, and was mainly for practice; it was fit for a battle between two girls.

Dressed in her best, dragon-skinned armor, Azula grabbed the red towel and laid it on her shoulders like a cape, practicing formal Agni Kai etiquette. She then ascended the alabaster steps like she had seen her father do countless times, and he took the stands, where he could watch. He would be her only spectator other than the school administrators. She walked to the center of the platform and turned exactly ninety degrees on her heel, looking so natural, so composed, facing the judges without the slightest sign of intimidation. Even for a seven year-old, Azula was clearly designed to be fearless.

"Azula of the Fire Nation, royal granddaughter of Fire Lord Azulon..." The head judge and administrator of the Academy—an old woman with many wrinkles and a pair of spectacles—read her name slowly, examining it; tasting the age of wine. "Considering that you have received more training than most of our entries..." the woman nodded at Ozai, who nodded back. "We have a more... _challenging _opponent for you."

"May I ask whom that opponent is?" Azula said sweetly, amber eyes sharp, voice crisp.

The gong sounded again. From the opposite end of the arena, Azula could make out a shape in the dark of the coming corridor. She smirked coolly, hoping to create a facade of friendliness, deceiving and weakening her enemy before they even stepped on the platform. She wondered if she _would _have to face a man—male and female firebenders were in completely different categories during the official sport, and Azula had faced both in her training—but it was not. It was a woman, significantly older than she, and the two looked absolutely nothing alike. She was dark-skinned, a tannish-caramel color, and her eyes were brilliant, cerulean blue. She did not wear the armor of a warrior, but a simple blue tunic fabricated with grey thread. Her hands were in chains behind her back until someone unlocked them, and filled water troughs on either side of the platform.

Azula instantly glared at the headmaster. "You want me to battle a _slave_?" She questioned, insulted.

"You will find that Hama is quite the formidable opponent. She is a rather experienced waterbender."

Azula raised an eyebrow, suddenly interested. She hadn't known that. "Very well," she replied and bowed, signaling that she was ready to begin.

The girls stood on opposite ends of the platform, waiting for the gong to sound, to throw off their towels, and attack. As Azula stood on one knee, she realized that she had never faced a waterbender, and that meant she had a weakness. But a smirk covered up the hole in her confidence. She would have to take this "Hama" down, or else suffer a most humiliating defeat. And her father was watching. She couldn't disappoint him.

The gong rumbled and Azula threw off her towel in whirl, spinning until her foot landed, standing ground, so she could whip out and unleash a fireball. It was only one, conserving her energy, and positioning herself for a counterattack. But Hama stood still, aqua tentacles made from the water troughs beside her, ready to block. Azula took another step and fired a consecutive flame, and it slammed into one of the tentacles until it hissed and evaporated into steam. The molecules collected themselves together again, and returned to their liquid state.

She suddenly let off a barrage of fireballs, shooting wildly, for Hama could not possibly block them all. A thick cloud of steam instantly filled the arena so she could hardly see, blindly shooting flames without being able to see her target. She relied on the sound of water falling to the floor and footsteps splashing in puddles; a sure sign of Hama's defeat. Breathing heavily, Azula paused, ears sharp, trying to locate her opponent in the smog. But the humid mist muffled sound and it made it difficult to—

A powerful surge of water slammed her right in the face, filling her eyes and nose and mouth with white foam, knocking her smack in the jaw, and sending her sprawling backwards. Azula fell flat on her back, and then sat up, clutching her head. She staggered to her feet, confused on where the hydro blast had come from. The mist was only beginning to clear, and meant that her spectators had not seen her fall. They had only heard, and Azula ducked down and stuck her foot out, knocking a running Hama in the ankles, forcing her to shout and lose her balance. The waterbender skidded and slipped in the puddles and then toppled over the edge of the platform, losing the match.

The haze cleared and Azula stood victorious, smirking with arrogant pride. Had the judges seen _her _fall, she would have been the one that had lost, but the Spirits had been playing in her favor. She was heartily accepted into the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, and Ozai was _very_ proud to claim that his daughter could battle and _win_ against a waterbender, a firebender's toughest opponent. Azula too, believed that fire was the superior element. Little did she knew, as Hama was taken back into slavery, that the next time she would face a waterbender, water did in fact, put out fire and flames.


	7. Borne in His Image I

I f you think you've read this chapter somewhere else before, you probably have. It was on my other account, _Flame of Hikari_, in a different story involving Azula and her paststuffs (so if something seems a little off, that's my explanation. I did some _minor _editing). I've taken the story down to save myself any trouble that might spot. They probably won't, but it satisfies me to do this anyways. I _may _update later this weekend, depending on how many people have seen this oneshot before... I don't want you guys to get bored, now, do I? Nope nope nope!

**Edit: **Fixed the last two paragraphs. Funny, it wasn't like that until I posted it. But thanks for pointing it out, guys! Oh, and Ogro pointed this out to me--I didn't know that Ozai never served in battle... if he did, I had figured that it would have been in his teenage years, and probably with a naval fleet, hence his connection with Zhao. Hmm. And, I changed a bit of the wording (not the dialogue) to better fit, considering that there were a couple of mistakes that I should have looked over before. Ack. Being a perfectionist killzzzz.

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Borne in His Image I**

The firelight melted and swayed with warmth upon the crimson walls, garbing the room with eloquence and safety, fuzzy shadows kissing the lad in his bed. It was the night's wishes as the sickle of pale moon hung above the land, silver rays overseeing the dipping valleys and high mountains, keeping a careful watch upon the little boy. Through his open window came the soft breeze from the sea, gently caressing his face as he remained up upon his mattress. The sun had set and it was time for sleep. And like a heavenly goddess she appeared through the doorway, her ever-loving smile creasing her lips. Her presence alone brought her son security, and she sat down on his bedside.

Her hand reached out and stroked his shoulder; even at the age of two, she could see that he was growing into a handsome young man. No, little Zuko was becoming more than a man, but a Prince. Lady Ursa could easily see that her son was elated to see her affection for him, as he giggled as she rubbed her long fingers through his buzz of black hair. And to think that one day he would become a grown man, standing as a proud symbol of their country...

"But you'll always be my little Zuzu." Ursa leaned forward and kissed her only son on the forehead. At this Zuko lay down beneath the scarlet silk covers, golden eyes shimmering from the oil lamps at his nightstand. He snuggled his head into the goose-down pillow.

"I love you mommy." Zuko yawned, staring tenderly up at his mother. Not taking her eyes off him Ursa dimmed the oil lamp down to a tiny flame.

"I love you too, honey. I love you too."

"As do I."

The dark voice paused the summer wind. With an awkward silence Ursa looked over her shoulder, and Zuko poked his head up to find the man that had ruined their goodnights. He leaned against the doorway so that the light could not reach him. The only thing visible about him was the reflections are of what was supposed to be eyes. Zuko glanced up to his mother; a crease of worry on his face, seeing that affectionate smile of his mother's erased from his face. She had not yet turned back to him as the Noble raised a powerful finger, beckoning her away from the child and to him. Without another word or look at Zuko, Ursa stood up, as if being pulled by a string. His thoughts confused, Zuko watched as his mother and father evaporated into the abyss, so he could not get a word out against them.

The Fire Noble's strong arm wrapped around his beautiful wife, taking several steps back, so that their son could not see or hear them. He placed a kiss upon her cheek, letting out a heavy breath.

"He is rather special, isn't he?" Ozai said. Ursa nodded in agreement, but she apparently did not have a verbal response. She knew that there was more to his words then he was letting on.

"Very special indeed. But I am beginning to doubt myself, dear Ursa. My father had come forth with the same thoughts, and the conclusion he made was a positive one, I believe. It is that perhaps something tragic were to happen to Zuko. He stands the next in line behind Lu Ten, and Lu Ten is behind my brother Iroh."

Ozai turned Ursa with him and they began to stroll through the hallways and towards their own living quarters. The torches lit their way, the soldiers that constantly stood bowing respectfully bowing to the royal family. They were there to protect and serve; not listen and contemplate what the two had planning.

"The country is at war, and has been at war since my birth. The other nations are fighting back well. With our recent struggle at the Serpent's Pass I cannot say that the war will lift anytime soon. General Iroh, in company with Lu Ten, fight bravely as you and I speak."

They had entered the master bedroom. It was formidably dark, no candles or oil lamps present; only the flood of the moon. It spilled through the wide window, the drapes billowing, touching the edges of the bed that stood almost dead-center. The sheets, somewhat unlike the rest of the palace, were white: A pure, obscure, ivory. With silent footsteps the Noble Ozai walked his wife over the obsidian carpet, his voice continuing to resonate.

"And because they are at war, my Ursa—my _dear, sweet _Ursa—the stakes of them perishing in battle is high. If either of them were to be killed, then that would place me as the next Fire Lord. And then, my successor, our beautiful son Zuko. _However_, the idea of a second child has crossed my mind. I am a second child myself, but look at what I have obtained. I have already fought my years in battle while my brother fights them now. I have already gained the knowledge of how these politics of ours works while Iroh suffers to understand our marxist ways. But most of all, Ursa, I have you, and no one but _I_ can have you."

Ozai craned his neck and placed his lips fully on his wife's, preventing any words that she had wanted to speak. His voice came no more, just his lustful breath upon her neck, feathering kisses all along her collarbone. Those feathers turned into vampire bites and Ursa found herself moaning, a mix between pain and pleasure, as his warm hands moved into her robes and removed them, running his palms up her thighs, sweeping her off her feet and placing her on the bed, loving her so. The woman raised her hands to comb them through his charcoal hair, but he suddenly grunted and grabbed her wrists, throwing them at her sides. She looked up in alarm, and he merely smiled, a phoenix flame in his eyes.

Ursa didn't know whether the look was supposed to frighten or comfort her as he took a complete hold of her, keeping her wrists locked into place, like restraints. It became instantly clear that she would have no say in the making of this child, her second one, for Ozai was to do everything he wanted to. But Ursa did the best she could, leaning forward when he kissed her, fiery and dominant, even when he pushed her back down.


	8. You Either Sink or Swim

S h o r t --yes, I know. But I'll _hopefully _be updating again on thursday because this is so miniscule.

* * *

******Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko  


* * *

**You Either Sink or Swim**

"No. It's too hard."

"You know that I won't tolerate failure."

"I'm not failing. I'm not gonna do it. It's scary."

"_Scary_? Come now, even your brother can do it. It really shouldn't be all that difficult for you."

"What if I can't?"

"Are you telling me that you're afraid to even try?"

"No."

"So what are you waiting for?"

"I don't want to… even mom says I shouldn't. I'm too young."

"She tells you that you're too young for firebending, and that the way you do it is wrong. And why should she be worrying about you? I'm certain that she has… _other _things to take care of. Let me, your father, help you."

"…Okay."

Ozai held out a hand. Azula took it, her fingers small and childish with his, closing her eyes. She held her breath and took a step forward on the grainy sand, which was more like silt, and felt the warm ocean shore lap at her ankles. The tide pulled her and she expected to fall again, but her father's grip kept her still, holding her in place. Together, they walked out until the water was above her waist. Azula opened her eyes and gasped, but still held on to Ozai's hand.

"Now, was that so difficult?"


	9. Borne in His Image II

Y o u know, I think I've realized that this is evolving into something more than just Ozai and Azula, since it's got more family interactions than I expected. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I love the royal family. And baby!Zuko is cute.

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Borne in His Image II**

Zuko laid his ear on his mother's rounded belly, eager to hear the baby sounds from inside, the sounds of his little sister. He rubbed a hand along Ursa's stomach, and she giggled.

"That tickles, honey," she said sweetly, removing her son's hand. Zuko flopped back on his butt, bouncing on the mattress.

"Does it tickle baby?" he asked.

"Yes, yes it tickles baby. Just like I tickle you!"

"Huh?"

Ursa pulled her son towards her and he squealed with delight as her fingers wriggled at his chunky toddler sides. Their laughter carried throughout the night until Zuko stopped and noticed his father standing in the doorway. Ursa stopped shortly thereafter.

Ozai stood waiting. Ursa looked to the nurse maid that had been quietly reading a book, and handed her to Zuko, carrying him out of the room. Only then did Ozai move, sitting on the bedside as his wife sat up, one hand on her pregnancy. But she did not meet her husband's eyes—instead she looked away and sighed irritably.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked.

"Yes, it is," Ozai conjured a wooden cup of herbal tea from the sleeves of his robes, passing it to her. "Drink."

She took the cup, but did not look him in the eye. She hesitantly sipped the tea, for it was the kind that he was making her drink 24/7; oversweetened with honey and sugar, so it tasted undeniably rich and terrible at the same time, like candy that was eaten too much. "You never did this with Zuko."

"I'm reluctant that I didn't," he replied smoothly, taking the cup once she was finished and setting it on the nightstand. Ursa's eyes finally met his, narrowed.

"And just what do you mean by that?"

"I'm concerned. Shouldn't every father be concerned?"

Ursa cast him a long, skeptical look, thinking about all he was doing throughout her pregnancy—the tea, the more time he made her spend in the war chamber than the palace garden, the less hours she was able to spend with Zuko, and not to mention all the nitpicky things he was making her do—but she had to give in to his warm, liquid bronze gaze. She shook her head, a smile crawling on her face, and Ozai knew he had won. He placed an arm around his wife, kissing her on the cheek. He got more into bed and kissed her again, deeply like a lover. He placed a possessive hand on her stomach, and she broke away.

"Ozai," she said knowingly, and the Prince pulled back, confused.

"What?" he asked, mimicking an innocent face.

"The more you put your hands on this baby the more she'll turn out like you."

"Is there something wrong about that?"

"No, but..." Ursa hesitated, and Ozai's smile faded. He reclined from the bed, understanding the message, a dark look now smudging his loving demeanor. He did not bother to close the door softly behind him like he was supposed to at night, and he let it bang shut. Ursa winced.

"I _hope _you don't turn out like him," she whispered softly to her little girl, her little angel. "And if you do... I'll love you anyways."

* * *

Author's Additional Note:

_Alternate Conversation_

"Ozai," she said knowingly, and the Prince pulled back, confused.

"What?" he asked, mimicking an innocent face. "I like preganant women. They're sexy."

XD


	10. Talent

S o . . . this overall chapter was an experiment. Why? Because it's my first modern AU! Sure, it gets into the metaphorical atmsophere perhaps a _little_ too much, but it wouldn't be the same without it (okay, I admit that I got carried away with the descriptions on some parts). Also, the time I wrote this one I had been reading _The Last Days _by Scott Westerfield, and that was just full of inspiration for this chapter. Tell me what you think of it, I could use some constructive criticism. I've also been trying to flesh out an actual story or two that's completely AU (I actually don't think I would mind having a partner to write this one with me, just to keep me motivated), because it's a rather interesting idea. I still like to implicate the Avatar culture, though, because without it it just wouldn't be Avatar.

Anyways... give me your opinion, and if you think I should try to do more modern AUs, or at least attempt a full story of one.

And I also apparently know more about cars and their types than I originally thought O.o

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Talent**

His fingers flew, his hands a flurry, the guitar squealing and roaring raw, earthly-metal snarls, rapid and unrelenting, starting off low and growly, like a monster in the darkness, and then screamed up on high as the beast lunged out and attacked. It was a behemoth of rage and hate, steel claws thrashing rhythms breaking the brittle concrete of the garage, cracking open the pits of hell and encouraging the burning fire. The beast was much too large, too godly and destructive, to be held in such a tiny cage, flexing and growing and feeding off in every fury-filled, envious beat, backed by the inhumane cry of vocals, the voice inside its head. It would break loose, it would conquer, it would obliterate, annihilate, liberate, murder--

And just as it broke free of its iron chains, it was shot into a still and sudden silence, the air frozen of its roar.

"That... was... insane!" Sokka panted as he sat down on a subwoofer, his electric cobalt bass Fender slung around his neck, cooling down. "I didn't think we could finish that, but, wow."

"Spirits!" Their drummer, Jet, shouted and threw his drumsticks behind him, slickered with sweat and completely wiped. "Dudes, I am so... freakin'... gah!"

"It was all Zuko's doing," Aang stated, taking a large guzzle of bottled water, cooling his fiery throat, hoarse from his punk-bearing screams. A mop of black hair fell in front of his face and when he pushed it up against the arrow-shaped haircut, it remained plastered like glue."You've been working on it, haven't you?"

Zuko only nodded, too exhausted to reply, setting his ebony Gibson on its stand. The dim red light shimmered off a noticeable crack in its head, but it turned out to be a signature with a silver Sharpie, obviously labeling it Zuko's, custom-made from the line. And though the band treated one another equally, they knew that he was a metal god, born to rock, given some pieces of wood and metal as a child, and able to fashion his own guitar and style of music. It had been he that was the beast, not taunting and chasing it like his friends had, but _being _it, _being _the one with the leading anger and hate.

"Yeah," he finally said, wiping his lips free of water, sweat, and spittle. "I have."

"So do you think we're ready for the gig tomorrow?" Jet asked, standing up and stretching, then going to fetch his sticks.

"Eh, I don't know... there's still that middle part you gotta work on, Aang." Sokka stated.

"Hey! I can do that part fine!" Aang yelled, his voice cracking all the way.

"Take it easy, buddy," Zuko said, kneeling on the floor, putting his guitar to rest for the night. "You sounded good, better than last night. You don't want to put anymore strain on your voice."

"All righty!" The freshman cracked a grin, and Sokka rolled his eyes.

"Fine, but if tomorrow we suck, I blaming both of you," he grumbled.

The Four Nations packed up their gear, and Jet threw a black cover over his drumset, shielding it from the harm of his garage. Within the hour they were all ready to leave, Sokka offering Aang dinner (his sister was obviously buying for them), and leaving Zuko to drive home alone. He parked next to the blazing red Corvette, which was much faster and more expensive than his Chevy Camaro, but he chose reliability over style. He also chose quality over quantity as he walked into the garage, passing the tyrannical, onyx-black Hummer, driven only by his father on "special" occasions. But the charcoal Mercedes-Benz of the wealthy CEO usually drove was not present, for Ozai was still at work, and not coming home until late. Last but not least was the tarped-over, sand-colored Honda Civic in the back of the garage, collecting dust; his mother's car, now as quiet as she, disappearing along the years, forgotten.

Upon entering his home, a new sound entered Zuko's ears, and it was not the sound of a beast or a monster, but a small child, violin bow gracing heartstrings. It was a mournful, beautiful sonnet, dripping with emotion, weaving the tale of a mother and father lost to a ravaged, fiery land, their only young helpless and alone. And the ballad, the ballad's player, echoed the sadness with an aura of mystery, daring to reveal the source of the pillaged families, the torched corpses. It was by the power of pride and glory, black and pristine in every nature, that a dragon was formed. The dragon stole all and burned what was before it, driven by anger and revenge, slaughtering any that stood in its way, notes climbing higher and higher as the melody became riddled with its flames, intense blue and carving its legend into the earth, climbing to the tallest mountain and standing before its empire, and unleashing a mighty, imperial roar, victorious.

Azula had talent, and more talent than Zuko ever did. While the Four Nations prided him on awakening a beast every time they played, he was hardly a match for the royal dragon Azula conjured in her masterpiece. She had inherited the gift from her father, one of the important business heads of the country's philharmonic orchestra, and she showed this gift well. Though two years younger, she had began to play at the same time he had learned guitar. It was Ozai that had convinced her to begin with the violin, being a natural player himself, and she then quickly advanced through the flute, clarinet, piano, trombone, oboe, and even bass guitar while Zuko had struggled with learning chords.

Now, when Ozai and Azula played together, it was a harmony and melody that was the meeting of a phoenix and a dragon—two mythical creatures that should never meet, or always meet, for while they shared the element of fire, who ruled the planet would always be an ancient battle, a timeless fight. When they played Zuko usually got chills, their music seeming to bring out demons that he had thought no one else knew about, haunting him. It was different from when he played with the Four Nations—there, he was the one in charge, but when Ozai and Azula played, it was as if they knew all of his thoughts, all of his secrets, and just through a simple piece of low strings and deceptive bows.

All the while Azula played, Zuko busied himself by making pasta, and when he was done with it only then did she stop, and descend down the stairs like a princess. The siblings were silent as they passed one another, Zuko sitting down at the kitchen table, stuffing his mouth with spaghetti. He watched as Azula made her way to the fridge and pull out a bottle of wine and a glass.

"Hey," he said, swallowing pasta. "That's dad's."

Azula glanced at the label. "No it's not, this is mine."

"Huh?"

"He bought me it. It helps me play like you and your cigarettes."

"Like you need help," Zuko grumbled in return, shoving a forkful in his mouth, annoyed. Azula poured the bottle and gulped the cherry-colored merlot, leaning against the kitchen counter. She was still in her school uniform, as if she had to wear it at home as well.

"Perhaps not help..." she looked away, swirling the merlot in its crystal goblet, and she leaned against the kitchen counter. "More like... inspiration, if you know what I mean."

Zuko grunted in reply. Azula took another sip and laughed coldly at him. "Of course you don't."

She smirked, and disappeared up the stairs, purposely leaving the wine bottle and glass out on the counter for him to clean up after. Zuko sighed, standing up and replacing it in the fridge, doing just as she had wanted him to. Then he heard the haunting, melodious notes again; Azula was the dragon in human form, there was no denying that.


	11. Borne in His Image III

I t feels like forever since I last updated. Ah well, that's what being swamped with trig and history homework does to you. Anyways, I believe I've come to realize that portions of these stories don't just entirely focus on Ozai and Azula... they involve bits and pieces of the royal family as well. I don't exactly know how I would put it, now, but I can promise in future chapters that there will be more of father/daughter interaction (or as Truethinker has turned me towards, _Ozula_. Don't ask how.).

This is also another chapter that I had previously written in another story. I didn't do much editing on it, and so if you find any grammatical errors, that's exactly why. I don't believe there are any other errors otherwise, except for maybe the thing about Ozai serving in the war or something again. I'm just going to assume that he took care of those in his teenage years, considering that he is a prince, whether he would be next in line or not. Don't all princes or something have to serve a certain amount of time in the military, active duty or not? Hmm, I should look into that more...

And why I keep beginning these with baby!Zuko, I don't know. Probably because he's just so damn cute.

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko_

* * *

**Borne in His Image III**

The blades of grass tickled his nose. Abruptly Zuko sat up and sneezed, nearly falling backwards again because of the force, and giggled. He then warily stood up, just beginning to learn how to walk. The Prince toddled his way across the courtyard lawn. It was the time of year when the pink jade trees began to bloom, the petals wafting in the scented breeze, occasionally landing on the toddler. Zuko picked up a couple of the blossoms and squished them in his palms, liking the funny sensation. How he was perfectly happy, dropping the flowers to chase a dragonfly that crossed his path. The afternoon sun tolled lazily down on his back as Zuko made an attempt to catch the flying thing, but missed. The overbearing heat, however, did not stop his pleasure from chasing the bug.

With quiet observation Ozai saw as his son nearly fell into the courtyard pond. The boy had tripped over his own feet but didn't cry, and picked himself back up again to continue chasing the dragonfly. He could tell that the boy was clumsy, even if he was just starting to learn how to walk and run. By this age, most children could already do so. But Zuko was a slow-learner, and it was evident even now.

How he had ever been ready for this day. It was when Zuko could be looked upon with contemplation, where he would have to soon be able to compete with someone else to up his skills… if he had any at all. Ozai folded his muscled arms across his chest. He could not help but be a little on edge for his next child to be born, waiting in the courtyard with his son, while Ursa was in labor. Nine months had passed since he had pressed her against the sheets. It had been a fateful night for both of them, and Ozai had been waiting for his second child's birth. And he was home this time, not out traveling to exotic places to carry out missions for Lord Azulon. No, Azulon had been more than gracious to allow Ozai to stay within the Fire Nation for his child's birth.

The sound of quick footsteps attracted his attention. Ozai came out from under the shade and approached his wife, carrying a white bundle in her arms. Ozai caught his mother's gaze, who had been there for Ursa, and nodded briefly to her before embracing Ursa and the child. A streak of sunlight shone on the plump face of the baby, dazzling amber eyes gazing up at the mother and father. Zuko looked up from his play, the dragonfly escaping his hands, wondering what his parents were so ogled over. Standing to his feet Zuko approached his family, being short and having to stare up at the bundle.

"She has inherited your angel face," Ozai complimented to his wife, and kissed her on the forehead. She smiled and chuckled at his friendly gesture.

"Would you like to hold her?" Ursa asked, her arms losing strength. The delivery had been swift, unlike Zuko's birth, but it did not mean that she wasn't exhausted. Without even having to say "yes" Ozai took the baby and cradled her in his arms, keeping her head up like any responsible parent. He was going to make sure that this child was reared properly, taken under his tutelage, where she could grow up to be strong and respectful just as he was. He had made a fair attempt to do so with Zuko, but the boy was incompetent and didn't listen to him. Zuko clung to his mother more than anyone else, and was fed morals filled with "sorrys" for his wrong actions and "next times" for his mistakes. But Ozai would teach his daughter to live a life with hard work and strength, not gentleness and acceptance. He would be teaching her the firebending way.

"What is her name?" Ozai asked, his finger moving over the brush of black hair the baby had on her head. He looked to find Ursa picking up Zuko, who had tugged on her dress, wishing to see his newborn sister.

"I have not given her one yet. I wanted you to name her." Ursa answered. Zuko leaned forward and peeked in to see his sibling. He was just curious to see her, not exactly knowing what to expect.

"Don't be modest, Ursa," Ozai chuckled as the girl closed her eyes out of exhaustion. "I named our son. It is only suitable that you name our daughter."

Zuko perked up at the mention of him. Ursa, holding him still in her arms, set him down to take the newborn again. "I have thought of one name: _Azula_. After your father, Lord Azulon," she replied, and Ozai nodded heavily in agreement. Both of those names connoted powerful origins, and it was exactly what Ozai liked in a strong Fire Nation citizen.

"Yes…" Ozai crooned, his shadow spilling over the little girl's. He leaned in closer, softly whispering her name, until his lips were almost right against her face.

"Ozai." Ursa had set Zuko down, and placed her hand over the baby Azula's midriff. Ozai paused and looked up, face void of emotion. "I need to talk to you."

Ozai looked back down at his baby girl. It was almost as if he had not heard his wife. The flicker of sunlight caught his eye and Ursa could see the same look of fascination in them—the kind that he often looked at his wife with. It was by no means comforting. The lustful strokes of admiration that he pets his daughter's face with connoted one too many ideas. What Ozai saw in that child Ursa was most definitely not fond of, and thus she took her daughter back, pressing her defensively into her chest. A mild look of surprise crossed Ozai's handsome features as he looked up, a slight smirk to his lips.

"Talk away," he answered. So he had been listening.

"Not in front of Zuko," Ursa stated, and in turn her son looked curiously up at her. The Lady looked over her shoulder to find Ozai's mother, the royal Maiden to the Fire Lord, and handed her the newly-branded Azula. She then habitually joined the crook in Ozai's arms, a position fit for her. Not yet talking they headed in the opposite direction that Ursa had entered, stepped up onto the porch, and disappeared inside.

Zuko looked up at his grandmother. He wanted to see the baby more, but he knew that she wouldn't let him. He followed her to under one of the many jade trees, and promptly sat down beside her. He leaned over, still looking over the newborn, and reached out to touch her. Almost immediately his grandmother slapped his hand away, and Zuko retracted it. He bit back the urge to cry at the sharp sensation, hastily wiping away a tear that slid down the cheek that Ilah could not see, and instead kept watch on his little sister from afar. What was so great about her was something he couldn't understand.

It was something he would never understand.


	12. Hands

I like this chapter alot, actually. I don't know why, it just seems very symbolic to me. Interpret it as you wish.

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
_By Nikkel  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko_**

* * *

**Hands**

The Royal Family was always supposed to look calm, collected, and proud. Every so often the capital would throw a giant festival for a victory in the war, and the family was invited to be in the parade, showing the people that they were the guardians and leaders of their country. There was a total of three palanquins for each of the royal family members: the first carried the Fire Lord and his wife (now passed, so it was Azulon himself), the Fire Lord's sons, and then the wives of the Princes. However, Prince Iroh was off to war, leaving Prince Ozai in the seat of his palanquin, along with his child of choice. The same was for Ozai's wife Ursa, and her child of choice.

It was customary for the couples to hold hands, to emphasize the family bonds within their royal blood. They had to show to modern society that they too, were capable of human emotions, but also had to take on the guise of and _be _gods to the common folk.

More often than not did Ozai choose Azula to sit beside him in his palanquin, his massive hand seeming to swallow hers. It was as if because of its size it radiated obedience and intolerance, forcing her to keep her back straight and eyes ahead. But as much as she liked her father's power, all the while she had a heavy ball of fear in her stomach. She knew that he would never hurt her—she was too much of a prized possession to be damaged—but the thought alone sent doubt in her mind. The callous skin on his fingers was rough, raw from firebending; Azula had seen him in more than one Agni Kai to know that he could take down a man with a single blow. She felt that if she made the wrong move, he would incinerate her.

Which was why she preferred to hold her mother's hand when parading through the city. There wasn't any need to be proper, but Azula acted so just to impress Ursa. Sometimes she made her mother laugh at her witty comments, but most of the time she was given a disapproving look. But that didn't matter to the young prodigy, for she knew that unlike Ozai, Ursa would never hurt her. She didn't have the strength to. Ursa's hands were also soft, smooth like flower petals, and lacked the iron grip Ozai's did. The way her mother held her hand so delicately, like porcelain, made her chest feel light and her heart flutter. She expressed this by holding Ursa's hand in the same way. It was a tender grasp, likely to break, but at least there was no harm in it.

When Ursa disappeared, Azula was forced to hold her father's hand at those parades. She missed her mother's angelic fingers, gently curling with hers, for Ozai had the claws of the devil. He wouldn't let go of her, and she realized that she had to hold onto them, for they were all that were keeping her alive at that point, giving her a purpose. Had Ozai not held on so strongly, their bond would have broken. Azula wished that she had held on to her mother's tighter.


	13. A Little Awkward

. . . . . I am made of WIN. Keep in mind that what Azula says last doesn't have to be taken seriously. She's just messing with her poor daddy's head :)

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko_

* * *

**A Little Awkward**

The war chamber was not the most comfortable place in the world. Sure, it looked nice, with tall wooden chairs and a long mahogany tabletop, handcrafted by the best artisans around, but it was not the best place to be for hours at a time. Ozai and Azula hovered over their documents, working through dull politics and diplomatics, not speaking as they tried to slog through the work as efficiently and quickly as possible.

"Father," Azula said, not looking up from her documenting. "Would it be possible for me to obtain a harem?"

Ozai paused. "Excuse me?"

"A harem," Azula repeated and leaned back in her seat, her heel propped up on the edge of the table. "You know, where you have a group of subjects willing to please you whenever you feel like it?"

"You mean servants, don't you? There are plenty of servants around the palace--"

"Sexual servants, father."

"Oh."

"Didn't you ever have one before you were married? I know uncle had one."

"Well I did, but I was much older; more mature, and I knew how to handle myself."

"Women go through puberty before men."

"Do they?"

"Need I explain the difference between Zuko and I?"

"...I see. So you... want a harem?"

"Yes, I do."

"O... kay." Ozai grabbed a blank sheet of parchment. He didn't know where to begin and tried to remember what his father had asked when he had been getting a harem. All he remembered was how much Iroh laughed at him for his choice of women throughout the entire thing. And on the side Ozai was wondering if his daughter—his pride and likely successor—would lose her virginity to these unknown men. Were male harems the same as female? He hoped not, for he had certainly lost _his _virginity to his harem. Well, he _had to_ have been experienced to seduce a wife and have two children—did that mean Azula was seeking experience...?

For a split moment Ozai had the image of Azula in a wedding gown.

"All right... how old do you want them to be?" The Fire Lord asked. He hoped that she wouldn't say too old—but didn't most women nowadays _like _older men? Dear Agni, if Azula was spreading her legs for a man _his _age!

"Same age, give or take a year," Azula replied, and Ozai breathed a sigh of relief. Boys her age were just so...

"Ethnicity?" How disgusted he would be if they were men from the Earth Kingdom, or slobs from either of the Water Tribes.

"Fire Nation. All of them. Upper-class."

Ozai coughed. "Ahem... submissive or dominant?"

A cruel, mischievous smile slid across the prodigy's lips. "Submissive."

He should have known that, he should have known that. Ozai had heard what other men had said about his daughter, what a devil she was, and that she probably was one in bed. He could only pride himself that she had gotten it from him, but it still made him shiver.

"Benders?" he asked, moving on to a... less sexual question.

"Depends."

"Depends? On what...?"

"What you mean by 'bending'. I want them to be flexible. _Very_ flexible."

"...That makes sense." Ozai blocked a bad image in his head as he wrote the word on the paper. "And... would they be group-willing...?"

"Hmm... group-willing would be rather interesting, don't you think?"

_...Was that question supposed to be rhetorical?_

"How many?"

"Seven."

"That's an odd number."

"I said group-willing, remember?"

"Oh." Ozai hurriedly finished up the order, still bewildered that he was actually doing such a thing. He faintly wondered if Ursa had ever had a harem. And it was not formal at all like it had been with his father and Iroh. Azula had just sprung it on him so suddenly. Did that mean that she—?

"So," Ozai cleared his throat and lifted the paper to read all the way through. "You want seven, group-willing, submissive men from the Fire Nation, preferably non-benders and of high-class descent?"

"Yes, sounds about right," Azula replied, running it through her head, and then blinked. She looked curiously at her father. "Wait. Did you say _men_?"

"Of course..."

"I want women."

Ozai's brain just about exploded.


	14. Learning to Crawl

W o w . Talk about inbox-review EXPLOSION. Thank you oh so much to everyone that reviewed, that chapter, was probably one of my favorites, considering that humor has never really been my style of writing. As for this chapter, I had decided to experiment with something postwar. It may not be the best, but it's a shot at redeemed!Azula and hospitalized!Ozai. Tell me what you think.

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Learning to Crawl**

The sun that beamed down on Dragon Isle was bright and warm, carrying the beautiful summer radiance that naturally came with the free-spirited season. Many residents of the Dragon Isle Mental Facility were out on the flourishing green lawn, enjoying the day. Those that bended especially took the opportunity to practice their skills, bending with the earth, and rejuvenating their souls.

Among the patients outside was Ozai. He did not take the opportunity to bend, however—he knew firmly well that he _couldn't _bend, for the Avatar had stolen those powers away from him. He scowled underneath the shade of a tree, refusing to participate or interact with anyone. This was proving difficult, though, for his own daughter stood in front of him. He pouted like a petulant child.

"Come on," Azula said, extending a hand. "Just take a walk with me. Because I know you can still do that."

The kindness in her voice was sickening to him. What had happened to the dragon he had raised her to be? She had been visiting him on Dragon Isle for the past several weeks, informing him about things he didn't care about—his son's wedding, the reconstruction and re-establishment of the Earth Kingdom, the foundation of the Airbending Academy—simple events like these were all Azula talked about. She didn't talk about revenge or the assassination of her brother like he had hoped she would when she first visited him. Ozai thought that she may have been brainwashed—he knew all about the Dai Li's conspiracy on Ba Sing Se—and wouldn't have been surprised. The Avatar certainly would have been cruel enough to wipe her memory clean, given that he had taken the Fire Lord's bending away. What perhaps disgusted Ozai the most was how _nice _she was being to him, and it significantly reminded him of a certain someone from both of their pasts.

"Of course I can still walk," Ozai growled, coming forth from the shade. He looked shiftily around. "I just don't like all these idiots around me. They make me look _weak_."

"Good," Azula replied nonchalantly. "Walking through them will teach you a lesson in humility."

Ozai frowned, and began to follow her around the grounds. The sun shone down so his silver hairs were visible in his head and beard. "And what do you know about humility?"

"I've learned that it can teach you a knew way to firebend."

"_What_? Who told you this?"

"Zuko."

"Ha, figures. It's a weaker way of bending, isn't it? You know, the ancient ways. Pathetic and useless."

"Not entirely. Uncle Iroh has also mastered the form. Last time I checked, you could never beat him in a match."

"If you're intending to imply that _my _form is weaker than his, then you also know that _you're _weak. Last time _I _checked you could never beat Zuko in a match."

Azula glared darkly at him, but her tone was soft. "I don't care about that anymore."

"And why not?!" Ozai shouted, flabbergasted.

"Because that new form—the one Zuko and Uncle know—is the one I've been taught." She looked away from him and closed her eyes in concentration. "And it's the one I want to teach you."

"You _know _I can't bend, that stupid Avatar—"

"It's not about having the ability to bend. If you shut up and listen to me for a moment maybe you'll learn something."

Ozai closed his mouth.

"It's not about having the ability to bend. It's about believing that you do. When Zuko first came to me and I started to… _change_, I couldn't bend. But he taught me how to again."

Ozai rolled his eyes. "You apparently _don't _understand my situation," he said firmly, stopping in his tracks. He then realized they had crossed the lawn, embarrassing himself, and he had not even realized it. He looked accusingly at his daughter.

"I figured that bringing you out here would be the most convienient place to practice," Azula stated.

"Like I have anything to practice," Ozai snorted.

"Just go through the form with me. It's a little different from what you're used to, but…"

Ozai crossed his arms defiantly. "All right, but you'll have to show me first."

Azula nodded, and Ozai noticed a familiar determination in her eyes. He took a couple of steps back to give the firebender her space. She stood in the ready position for a few seconds, slowly inhaling and exhaling, igniting the fiery chi stored in her gut. She then moved to the right and began to go through a series of motions that Ozai had never seen her do before. Instead of the razor-sharp attacks stapled by rage and precision, Azula's moves were clean and smooth, flowing like a silk ribbon in the wind. Ozai yearned to call her slow, for the form was more melodic than fierce, with only miniscule licks of flames sprouting from her fingers, and orange flames at that. What had happened to the prodigy's signature bluebell fire?

As the kata went along, transforming into something that was more waterbender than firebender, it occurred to Ozai that perhaps his daughter had recovered, that maybe Azula had changed all on her own. She hadn't been convicted of any crimes, on the account of mental instability. This slight instability was seen in the new form, her hand gracing out in one place and twitching, so a look of annoyance crossed her features and she redid the move. The kata was more of a dance than anything else, elegant and liquid, even with her twitching, like ripples in the water. Ozai raised an eyebrow when she was finished, returning to the starting position.

"That's it?" he scoffed. "Looks rather simple."

"Not quite. I haven't fully completed it. It's rather complicated."

"Why do you want to teach me this, Azula?" Ozai asked, suspicious, and looked at her directly. A brief look of shame and hurt crossed her features before she stared down at her toes, hands behind her back. "_Well_?"

She looked up at him with large, topaz eyes. "Because you're my father."

Ozai was taken aback. He had not expected such an honest answer, and there was no hiding the pleading tone in her voice. Blinking rapidly, Ozai tried to recall a day that Azula hadn't looked up to him, hadn't seen him as a teacher, but a father. He could hardly remember what it was like to be a parent, but as Azula stood there, the memories of happy times came washing back, when she was nothing more than a babe that had yet to blossom in his arms. All that was different now was that their roles were reversed, with him as the student and his daughter as the master.

"I… _suppose _I could learn it. Not that it would be of any use to me, considering that I can't—"

But instead of finishing his sentence, he took a surprised step back as Azula ran up and hugged him, arms around his neck, her head buried in his chest. He heard her crying. He patted her on the back, and slowly, brought his own arms around her, cradling her as if she were a child again.


	15. It's Killing Time Again

I feel the strange compulsion to update something else, but I don't know what. I'm missing something. Hmm.

So anyways, I've been in the mood for an AU lately, even though I wrote this quite a while ago. Since then, I've considered developing an AU story along similar lines... what do you think about that?

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**It's Killing Time Again**

It was all about being in the right position.

Stay low, stay behind, stay hidden and out of sight. Stalk, not hunt. Leaning too forward would push the nose of the barrel out, make it glimmer off some street light. Leaning too back would make a difficult and likely inaccurate shot. The key was not to lean at all, stay in the prone position, keep it steady, patient.

Azula awaited the instructions from her father, peering through the scope, into the white meeting room with men in black suits 426 yards away. It was one of those thick, hazy summer evenings, where the wind was absent, making the possibility of air resistance practically zero, and allowing her to aim for her target dead-on. She was ready, face against the cheekpiece, which was wet from condensation, not perspiration. She was ready, not excited or nervous, but calm, predatory.

"Twenty-five seconds until he arrives," Ozai said in his low, low voice, gently whispering to his daughter as the spotter, binoculars around his eyes. "He'll likely be wearing that obnoxious green hat."

"Only makes him more of a target," Azula snickered, smirking smoothly, the sniper hardly twitching out of position.

"Then it should be a bullseye for you. Twelve seconds."

Azula returned to the scope, hand sneaking, cupping the trigger, the ball of her finger placed upon it. But she didn't shoot—no, no not yet—her instructions weren't complete. The Earth Society President still had yet to arrive, walking up the stairs as her father counted down beside her, voice falling lower and lower. "He'll be sitting on the far right, at the head of the table," he said, and just as the President entered.

"He's got a dog with him. A brown newfoundland," Azula replied immediately.

"Bosco. He travels everywhere with the President. The dog will be the first to know if you miss the shot."

But she wouldn't miss, no, not from her keen position. Azula had a record marksmanship, one that rivaled her father's, but did not quite beat his. He had given her the mission, for it had originally been his, but he wanted to test her skills, as always. With one eye open she watched the President sit in his seat, on the far right and at the head of the table just as her spotter had said. The dog took its own seat, much to the society's disdain. The President got comfortable and adjusted his glasses, shuffling his papers, ready for the meeting to begin.

"Fire at will."

A chest should would be impossible, as the President was facing them with his left shoulder, and an apricot would be plain risky. A shot to the temple would be the only option, except a portion of his green hat went past his ears and covered the side of his face, like sideburns. It would be hard to place, but Azula relished a challenge. She emptied the air from her lungs, relaxing her finger into place, tickling it gently, like one would do to the underside of a kitten's chin. She then squeezed it just as gently, straight back, until there was a jerk against her jaw that jolted into her shoulder, firing at long last, the silencer covering up the usually loud crack that echoed throughout the urban heights.

"Dammit!" Ozai shouted in rage and threw his binoculars down. Azula cringed. She had scarcely missed, the bullet skidding off the front of the President's temple, his hat apparently having some sort of bulletproof armor beneath its felt. The moment Ozai had shouted was the same moment that all of the men plus dog in the building had gone into a panic, jumping on the President to save him from further harm. The mission was over and failed. Ozai whirled on his partner. "How could you have missed?! It was like shooting birds, Azula!"

"How was I supposed to know that his hat was a helmet?" Azula replied, sitting up, her lip curling. "You're my spotter, you should have known that and told me."

"And I was supposed to be the shooter for this mission, _not you_. I regret it now." He glared coldly at her, which she matched. He kicked his binoculars. "Pack up. I'll be in the car, filling out a _fail _report."

Ozai disappeared down the parking garage stairs. Azula quickly disassembled the sniper rifle, stuffing it into its case, having to clean it later, just like after every mission. But most of the time it was a mission she _didn't _fail, and left her father proud, not angry. He was no doubt calling off all succeeding plans, for the Earth Society President was still alive, and now more data needed to be gathered as to when would be the next time to snipe him. Such a rescheduling could take weeks, months even. And it had all been his daughter's fault—the successor to the head of the mercenary department—and she had not only humiliated herself for the future, but him as well. Ozai hated to be humiliated.

The trunk of the SUV waited open for her. She placed the sniper case, its bipod, and other assorted equipment in it and then slammed it shut, walking around to the front seat. They didn't look at each other. Ozai waited before starting the engine, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, jaw clenched, and temple visibly pulsing. Azula glared at the dashboard.

The ride home, obviously, was spent in silence. Even the soft Mozart music over the radio did not ease the terse atmosphere, made worse by the obliterating heat, even at night. Ozai did not even seem to try and relax, not reaching for his cigarettes and abandoning his cell phone. He let it ring and played the angry voicemails on loudspeaker. But while Ozai fumed and seethed, Azula felt her own rage being overcome by guilt, a guilt she only received and experienced from her father. She had disappointed him and now he may as well have considered her useless, not worthy of becoming the next elite assassin. They pulled into the three-car garage of their home.

"Father," Azula called, just as Ozai was to leave, so she was talking to his back. "I..." The words wouldn't come to her lips. She had always had trouble apologizing, and she rarely apologized to her father, for she hardly ever had anything to apologize _about_. "I was just doing what you ordered me to, I wasn't--"

"Save it," Ozai snapped and slammed the car door behind him, shaking it; had the car not been a sturdy one, it likely would have broken. Azula kicked the dashboard—huh, unbreakable too.

She left the car in the same manner as her father did, fetching the sniper from the trunk, entering the house. Zuko was sitting on the living room couch plucking his guitar. He looked up just as she tossed the gun on the kitchen table and immediately sat in a seat, but did not clean the weapon as she was supposed to. The mission clearly had not gone well.

"You know, this makes me glad that I'm a bad shot," Zuko stated and took a chair beside his sister. Her hand on the table was clenched in a fist and she did not look at him. She snorted.

"Then you're lucky."


	16. The Bitter End

So this chapter is totally not meant to be taken seriously. It's IC, and yet, OOC at the same time... hmm...

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko_

* * *

**The Bitter End**

"Oh, this is just ironic, isn't it? Being placed in here with _you_."

"It's not as if I wanted to be. It was all Fire Lord Zuzu's doing."

"Shut up! You know that boy will never be Fire Lord."

"Really? Did the Avatar wipe your mind when he took your bending away? Because how _else _are we in here?"

"I don't know—a coup, mutiny, corruption, unjustified legal action."

"Hahahahahahaha, _please_! You can't even realized that you _failed_?! Oh my, this is hilarious!"

"It's not that I don't realize this… I just want to convince myself it's a nightmare. And quit laughing at me."

"Haha, _why_?! It's funny. Don't you just think of how much of an idiot you are, believing you couldn't take down the Avatar? Hahahahahahaha!"

"_You're _the idiot. You couldn't even take down Zuko, for Agni's sake! What was wrong, were you—"

"It doesn't matter what I was doing, I _lost_! I _failed_!"

"Sounds like you don't accept your fate either."

"You're the one who sired me. It's _your fault _that I'm here."

"Well then apologies for my seed being successful. Not that it matters, you were never conceived in love anyways. But you already knew this, didn't you?"

"Of course. It's why I'm a monster."

"You know my father told me the same thing, so don't be all pouty about it. Deal with it."

"Like I care about _your _father."

"All I'm saying is that perhaps we're not so different."

"Gee, I wonder why."

"Seriously, Azula. We could break out of here. Father and daughter. Phoenix King and Fire Lord."

"I believe someone melted your chicken helmet for some copper pieces."

"Chicken helmet?! That was a golden phoenix's crown of—"

"Not to mention that 'Team Ozula' sounds like some cheap superhero duo. I don't like wearing tights, Father."

"Who said that we would wear tights? Or be superheroes? Why not villains? Villains, Azula, villains! We could rule the world!"

"I can't believe we're talking about this…"

"What are you going to do instead? It's not like there's much to do in a stinkhole like this. We couldn't even play cards if we wanted to."

"I don't want to play cards. And, well, I don't know what I would do. Maybe just some regular crazy person stuff—y'know, bash my head into walls, scream until I go hoarse, probably pass out. And then there's always working achingly slow on my pathetic suicide, but I can't reach my own hands."

"…You know, when you put it that way, things don't sound that bad."

"I know, but that's because it's the truth. We're meant to die."

"I suppose. I think I would rather be dead than be in here with you, though."

"Touching words from a touching father. Thanks."

"Come now, you can't be serious."

"Everything I've done was to please you."

"You could have done so much better."

"…I did what I could."

"And you _failed_."

"You're in here _too_, remember? At least I get to go outside every now and then."

"I can't help it if I smell like a hippo-cow's backside!"

"I wasn't commenting on your odor, but you do reek."

_A guard suddenly entered the room and banged his stone club against both of their cages, situated side-by-side in a single cell. "Hey! Shut up or I'll get the warden in here!" he shouted, and slammed the oak door behind him. Ozai's gaze shifted towards his daughter's._

"Ha, he thinks _the warden _can scare us. I'd like to see him _try_."

"Team Ozula, here we come…"


	17. Wrong

******Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko  


* * *

**Wrong**

There just wasn't something right about them, and Iroh knew it. He simply couldn't put his finger on it.

When he saw them, they rarely acted like father and daughter. They were more like twins, moving and speaking in the same manner, and acted in an almost superficial, predictable way—they were both calculative and schemers, tricky and mischievous, and had some of the most violent tempers Iroh had ever encountered. Perhaps it was some trait of petulance born in the second child, passed on from generation to generation. The past seemed to be repeating itself, and with a brutal force.

She was just as malicious as he. Even when she had been just a babe, Iroh had never gotten along with her, always glaring and hissing at him like a two-headed cobra, and always wanted her father. Ozai had been the same way, and maybe Iroh had reciprocated that meanness out of annoyance, but as both of them emerged into adolescence, their insults became sharper and crueler, until it became the only venom from their lips. Azula had no doubt inherited that spiteful venom as well.

But what perhaps made Iroh think what was the most wrong about their relationship was the way they looked at one another. It was as if they were mind-linked, sneering coolly with the same thoughts, amber eyes half-lidded with what Iroh couldn't help but interpret as lust. A lust for power, for pride, for the unattainable, or even for each other. He didn't know what was worse, the former or the latter.

So he sat quietly by, watching them, as he meditated beneath the large tree in the palace courtyard, Ozai assisting Azula with firebending yet again. But something about them was just plain wrong.


	18. Don't Get Caught

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Don't Get Caught**

Prince Ozai briskly walked through the palace halls, eyes rapidly scanning the scroll held out in his hands before him, reading as he strolled. He was always carrying his work with him, unable to put it down, even for a bit of fun. Studying the most advanced subjects was something he had grown up with, and still pursued it to the day, hardly ever able to let anything go until it was finished. Ozai ignored the servants that rushed past, the guards that bowed to him, or even the occasional concubine that floated past and giggled at him. He didn't have any particular direction, either. He had just been sitting for so long that it was simply easier to take the scroll with him to stretch his legs.

The noble suddenly stopped. Something caught his eye, and that something was his daughter. The six year-old was standing in a corner. He rolled up the scroll and walked over to her, a look of amusement on his face, tilting his head with curiosity. "Azula? What are you doing?"

She looked up. She seemed so small and short compared to him. She was frowning. "Mom put me here."

"Is there any particular reason why?"

"She said I was lying."

"So she... put you in a corner?" Ozai said slowly, not quite understanding the purpose of the punishment. His mother certainly hadn't done anything of the sort. "Were you lying?"

Azula snorted. "Ha! No!"

He raised an eyebrow, and when she looked up at his face, her cocky smirk immediately disappeared. She puckered her lips and bowed her head.

"It's not like I was _trying _to get caught."

Ozai kneeled down to her height. "What exactly did you do?"

The smirk crawled back. "I said that Zuko was the one that fed the turtleducks Uncle Iroh's sushi. But I just took a little bit, I didn't know that they were allergic to it, and that Uncle--"

"Azula." Ozai saying her name was like a command. She instantly closed her mouth. He stared at her.

"What?"

"I believe the fact stands."

"Huh?"

"You got caught, and now you're paying for it. That's called karma."

"So... you're punishing me too? Great."

"No. I'm telling you not to get caught the next time you do something."

Ozai stood, patted her on the head, and walked off with his scroll again. Azula frowned, utterly confused by what he had just said, but shrugged. She glanced at one of the sundials from the palace courtyard, and figured that she had waited long enough. Her mother likely wouldn't be coming back to check on her. Thus, she walked in the opposite direction of her father, free of her punishment. It's not like she would get in trouble for it. She could always just say that he was the one who said it was okay for her to go.


	19. Quest of Insanity

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodean, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Koneitzko

* * *

**Quest of Insanity**

_Azula is located in a regular prison cell, rocking back forth on her cot._

**Azula: **I'm the Fire Lord I'm the Fire Lord, tehehehehehehe, I'm the Fire Lord!

**Guard #1: **Hey you!

**Azula:** _(stops rocking)_ What?! Can't you see I'm in the middle of a crazy rant?!?!

**Guard #2:** We've been given orders to take you to the Primary Court.

**Guard #1:** Now get up. The Fire Lord is waiting.

**Azula:** Excuuuuuuuse me if he wants me executed. Has he stated his preferred method yet? Hanging? Thrown into volcano? Fed to wolf-sharks? Or ooh, maybe this electric chair thing I've been hearing about from the screams down the hall!

**Guard #2:** Didn't she used to have a muzzle?

**Guard #1:** Yeah, but they had to remove it after the bondage incident.

**Guard #2:** The wha… OH. THAT.

**Guard #1: **What a freak.

**Azula:** Super freaky!

_The guards roll their eyes and unlock her cell (somehow avoiding being mauled in the process) and eventually trap her in chains. Several stories up in the prison, a similar situation is unfolding._

**Guard #3: **Okay, _Chicken Lord_. You've been ordered to the Primary Court.

**Ozai:** Ugh, what for? It's not like I've killed babies or something. Ha. Dead babies.

**Guard #4:** The Avatar has requested your prescence.

**Ozai:** To execute me?

**Guard #3: **We don't know the details, but the ex-Princess has been ordered there as well.

**Ozai:** Because I _really _want to relive that bondage incident.

**Guard #4:** Erm, no, but… Come on now!

_In the Primary Court, Ozai and Azula are brought in chains. Aang, Zuko, Hakoda, Emperor Kuei, and the Northern Water Tribe leader whose name has slipped the author's mind though it's debatable if he ever had a name, sit before them on a raised podium._

**Ozai:** This looks like a lovely family reunion…

**Azula:** _(gasps)_ DADDY!!!

**Ozai:** Shut up! You crazy fool, don't you remember what I told you about terms of endearment?!

**Azula:** Oh fine. Be a jerk. Hi Zuzu.

**Zuko: **Hi Azu—NO. I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO TALK TO YOU.

**Aang: **Okay everybody, calm down.

**Zuko: **I AM CALM.

**Hakoda:** It looks like we're ready to get started.

**Azula: **Ooh. Do I get the electric chair? Tell me I get the electric chair. Come on. We'll gamble for it. Big money.

**Ozai: **Whoa wait! If she gets the electric chair, what do I get?!

**Azula:** Death by fire.

**Ozai:** I like the irony of it, but… it's a tad cliché.

**Hakoda: **Since when did we start discussing fashion?

**Aang: **We're _not._ We're discussing—

**Ozai: **We were discussing our execution methods.

**Zuko:** Wait, we're gonna kill them? We can't do that! Think of the children!!!

**Ozai:** What children? Azula, is there something you wish to tell me?

**Aang:** ALLLLLLLLL RIGHT!!!

**Everyone:** O.O

**Aang:** According to Fire Nation law, the two of you have committed a series of crimes that include battery, assault, assassination attempts, tax fraud, and prostitution.

**Azula: **Prostitution? I never—

**Ozai: **Hey, it happened once.

**Zuko: **. . . . . Uh-huh. Anyways. The rightful punishment for such crimes is listed as death.

**Azula:** Wow. I never expected that!

**Ozai:** Wait, I'm gonna die?!?!

**Zuko:** But Aang, the Council, and I have decided on a more fitting punishment.

**Ozai: **Eating cow-pig hotdogs?

**Azula:** Eating cow-pig hotdogs and drinking cactus juice?

**Ozai:** Eating cow-pig hotdogs and drinking cactus juice while on your head?

**Azula: **Eating cow-pig hotdogs and drinking cactus juice while on your head and reading "Love Amongst the Dragons"?

**Ozai: **Eating cow-pig hotdogs and drinking cactus juice while on your head and reading "Love Amongst the Dragons" ALL AT ONE TIME?!?!?!?!

**Azula: **Come on, that's not hard.

**Ozai: **It is so!

**Azula: **Anything you can do I can do better… I can do anything better than youuuuuu…

**Ozai: **Sweet! Let's just musically montage our way through this pointless scene!

**Zuko:** Your punishment is banishment.

**Ozai: **Oh. That's not bad.

**Azula: **Meh. I could think of worse.

**Ozai: **As could I.

**Azula:** Hey, you started the banishment idea.

**Ozai: **And you made it a fashion statement!

**Kuei:** Fashion? Hey Hakoda, did you hear that?

**Aang: **You're also to be chained together while banished.

**Azula: **Ooh, kinky.

**Ozai: **DEAR AGNI, I AM YOUR FATHER.

**Aang:** Banished and chained, your task is to find Lady Ursa and bring her home.

_. . . . . Utter silence. . . . ._

**Azula:** THAT'S THE BEST PUNISHMENT EVAR!!11!!!

**Ozai: ** I know, just think of the torture methods!

**Azula:** We could put _her_ in the electric chair!

**Ozai: **Electrifying!!!

**Azula: **. . . No. Your puns are terrible.

**Ozai: **D'oh. . . . .

_The guards take Ozai and Azula away to a boat to start them on their epic journey. What will happen in this dangerous tale of adventure, romance, and fuzzy-rabid-bunny-squirrels? Will the mysterious Lady Ursa be found? Why did the guy whose name that has slipped the author's mind but is from the Northern Water Tribe never speak? Has he gone mute? Or has the author merely neglected his character to get to the point of this pointless story? Who knows! But Ozai and Azula will find out, and gain something better than the value of friendship or happiness or even redemption. . . . HONOR!!!_

**Zuko: **We just let them loose.

**Aang: **Yup.

**Zuko: **And they're looking for my mother.

**Aang: **Yup.

**Zuko: **I feel stupid.

**Aang: **Yup.

**Zuko: **I miss Katara.

**Aang: **Yup.

**Zuko: **You're close enough.

**Aang: **Wait, what?

**Zuko:** . . . . . (_makeout_)

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, what is this? I don't even know. The idea popped into my head during a rather dull study hall. I was had drank the infamous 7/11 slurpee for lunch (ZOMG. AMAZING. ORGASMIC.), and this is the result. I've debated whether or not I actually want to extend this crazy rant into an entire story and make it into a collaboration with my buddy, TrueThinker. I thought I'd let you guys decide. And yes, there was evidence of crackshipping, intentional or not. Because crackshipping is also amazing, like the slurpee. And because I discovered a new crackship :D


	20. The New Lineage

U p d a t i n g today because the spring play is tomorrow. It's exhausting. I get awesome slurpees. My foot is twitching.

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodean, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Koneitzko

* * *

**The New Lineage**

He splashed his face with water, instantly steaming upon his skin, trying to drench away the intense heat from the Agni Kai Arena. With the water he smoothed back his thick, royal ebony hair, expert fingers tying a new topknot, and tentatively but proudly placing the golden, five-pronged crown on his head. With the expression of a man returning from war but yearning for bloodshed, he glowered at himself in the mirror, his dark eyes challenging himself. Really, he could have another go, battle anyone. Although it had been pleasurable to mark his only son with a terrible and irreversible burn, he truly wanted to punish the boy further, _make _him fight, not crumple and writhe on the ground like a disgusting little _worm_. Had it not been for his brother's offer (banishment, with the task of finding the Avatar, and returning if and only if then), Ozai doubted he would have shown his son any mercy. He didn't _deserve _any.

Ozai had struggled to train the boy since he had turned eleven, but Zuko had proved to be a pitiful student. The Fire Lord would watch from afar as his son battled and fought against other firebenders and soldiers, forcing him to fight; a rigorous process that every prince went through to toughen him up. But it didn't seem to work for Zuko, who never came out of the training sessions unscathed. The maids in the hospital wing had always bandaged and nursed him back to health, but the moment Zuko was ready Ozai threw him to the tiger-wolves, watching as he flailed wildly about and fought until he passed out. He never had the opportunity (or desire, Zuko was too much of a wimp) to duel his son, but when the time had come, he had done it with total malice.

The Fire Lord snorted, snatching a scarlet cloth that draped over his shoulders and snapping the gold clasps. He threw on a heavy black robe over the cloth, preparing for the journey back to the palace. His suite at the moment was nice, but he needed his chamber, his study. Now that his son was gone (practically dead), a new problem had arisen, achingly drilling like a screw to his head—what to do about his lineage. If only Ursa hadn't…

Ozai slammed a flaming fist into the marble wall, exploding on impact and littering his perfectly fine robes in a pale yellow dust. Enraged, he ripped it off, facing away from the wall. It wouldn't do him any good to break his knuckles against an immovable object when it could be an opponent. _But_, he thought furiously, there was none to challenge him, none to take him! He was the most powerful firebender in the _world_… and now what a shame it was that there would be none to carry on his legend.

He walked over to his discarded robe, brushing it off. He needed to compose himself. He would be going out in public. Ozai steadily placed the robe back on and washed his hands clean of any marble or ash. He looked at himself hard in the mirror, forcing himself to believe that he was going to walk out of the suite, down the hallway, through the upper-class lobby, and to the palanquin. It wasn't difficult, and Ozai stroked his goatee, a habit he had picked up from _his _father. He quickly took his hand down, for it was a _bad _habit. He hated his father, and now Zuko probably hated him. Good. Maybe then he would finally stand up for himself… no, he wouldn't, he was too _weak_.

Ozai finally left the suite, a pair of sentries walking with him to the arena's upper-class lobby, made for the royal family, Fire Nation nobles, high-ranking military officials, and special appointees. The large doors at the end of the elegant entrance hall were wide open, waiting for the Fire Lord's departure.

"You're rather smart for a man _your _age."

Ozai turned his head to find his eleven year-old daughter sitting proudly in a chair, her arms and legs crossed, looking smugly up at a man that was at least three times her size, leaning up against the wall. She grinned at him and said, "I thought you would be senile by now."

"I remember _everyone_, my dear Princess," the man replied, voice coarse. Ozai's eyes narrowed—it was Captain Zhao, head of one of the naval fleets. He was supposed to be heading for the Northern Water Tribe on a ship right now, so why was he here? And talking to _his _daughter? It was obvious that he couldn't be trusted. "Including _you_. I could never forget a pretty face like yours."

"Don't come kissing up to me, Captain," Azula said smartly. "I know why you're here."

"Do you now? Well then, you'll know that I'm here on your father's behalf."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I would like to speak to him about certain… naval matters."

"You could tell me what it is."

"I could, I could."

By this time, Ozai had approached the both of them, standing in front of Azula. She looked up, spilled in his shadow, and fell quiet. She didn't need him to say anything to know that he was angry. Ozai glared coldly at the Captain, lips twisting spitefully as he hissed, "_Go home_."

Zhao leaned away from the wall. "Is there something wrong? You're daughter and I—"

"_Leave_," Ozai snarled. "I don't care what you were doing. Azula and I have some very important training to get to."

Zhao sighed and rolled his eyes, but bowed his head and walked away as he was told. Both Ozai and Azula scrutinized his back, and then looked at one another.

"What kind of training?" Azula asked, her face slightly pale.

"The kind you won't forget."

Ozai swiftly turned and headed for the royal palanquin. With a snap of the fingers, Azula hopped off of her chair and followed him close behind. Zhao paused from his conversation with some other nobles to watch, and then shook is head, saying,

"Let's hope he doesn't leave a scar on her too. Such a pretty face."


	21. A Lot Like Me

I really like this one. Inspired by the Offspring's "A Lot Like Me". Beautiful song. Especially the piano.

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodean, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**A Lot Like Me**

She had always chided herself for looking like her mother.

Smooth, porcelain skin, pale, but also a healthy, strong ivory tone. Almond-shaped honeycomb eyes, flecked with gold, copper, and bronze; metals of value. Lips full and red, red like the Fire Nation, meant to be only kissed by the worthy. Thick, charcoal hair that grew straight and regal, obsidian tendrils of silk. A small forehead that set a face for sculpture, carving an elegant chin and thin, sharp nose—the mask worn by royalty.

_Who do you see?_

That is what the mental physicians would ask her, back then. When she had no mind. When she didn't know who she was. And she answered the same thing every time:

_A monster. . ._

They told her that this was not the right answer. They said that she had an angelic face, one that proposed beauty, grace, and kindness. She was capable of these things. But as Azula traced her finger along the jawline in the mirror, she couldn't see how. She could never see how.

She may have looked like her mother, but it was her mother that had called her a monster. For some reason, as a child, she had made it her duty to live up to that. . . _name_, dare she call it that. She had been cruel. She had been spiteful. She had been. . . _evil_. The daughter of her father. Spitting image. Her nails clutched the mirror's frame. Convulsing.

And it confuses her still as to what it means to regret.


	22. Lesson Learned II

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodean, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Lesson Learned II**

Something had to be done. Time was running out.

The Fire Lord sat contemplatively on his throne behind the great wall of fire, his daughter on his left, as always. They were to be paying attention to the war generals and the strategy to burn Ba Sing Se. Ozai swore that he had heard them at least one thousand times already. His finger twitched, he sighed irritably—he was restless, itching for a breath of fresh air to think on his own. Sozin's Comet would be arriving in three days.

And he still hadn't come up with Azula's punishment.

Oh yes, she deserved one. Ever since Zuko had revealed that the Avatar was alive and Azula had lied to him, Ozai had been absolutely furious with her. He wouldn't show it, though. No, never—for then she would be expecting punishment. He had raised her to watch for detail, and if he were to show his anger, she would know. Their callous relationship had not changed; it remained cold and formal.

What perhaps drove him to punish her so was _why_—Why had she lied to him? And what angered him—Why had he fell for it? Ozai had always been able to detect when his daughter was lying. She may have been a natural at it, but so had he. If there was no flaw to notice, then it was overperfection, something that Azula was constantly guilty of in her youth. That had not changed.

Maybe she had been trying to deceive Zuko into thinking he had regained his pathetic honor. But then that would mean she was willing to. . .

Ozai's eyes flickered at Azula. She noticed his glance and smirked. Nothing seemed to be wrong as she sat there, black armor gleaming in the orange firelight. But then again, this was just another clue to overperfection, Ozai noted. He wondered if she was conspiring against him. Ba Sing Se had fallen thanks to her coup—she could probably pull the same thing on him, if he was not looking out for it.

He questioned her loyalty. Of his family, she had been the only one not to betray him—his father had denied him, his mother had been cold, his brother was stupid, his wife had been foolish, and his son was pathetic. Azula had remained at his side like a pet dragon, purring beneath his hand when pet and spitting fire when insulted. . . It was because of these facts that Ozai's senses told him that Azula wanted more, _needed _more, or else further destruction and deceit would reign.

In three days he was going to announce himself the Phoenix King. In three days, he was going to conquer the world and rebirth it in fire. What if Azula wanted this power? She was scheduled to aid him in the Ba Sing Se Burning. What if she attacked him then? What if she became the Phoenix King? It would be a mess, and the Fire Lord could not let that happen.

And then a grand idea came to mind.

Ozai smirked to himself, deadly lips crawling into a nasty smile. Oh, he had quite the punishment now. It was perfect, but not overperfect. And that's what would make it work.

"Something wrong, Father?" Azula asked.

"No, not at all," he replied darkly. "Absolutely nothing at all. . . Things are going exactly the way they should be."

If only Azula knew what he had in mind.


	23. Dumb

O M G . I am so nervous. About this AP US History Exam on Friday. The biggest freaking test of my life so far. 80 questions and 3 essays. Within a three-hour time limit at the max. I've been studying like crazy. It's the reason I'm updating tonight. Tomorrow I'll be at the school till at least 10:00 for study sessions. So. So. Nervous.

And, I wrote this one on a whim. I wanted something with Azula and Uncle Iroh in it. Because really, the two don't interact much in the show. And, well, it shows the contrast of Ozai and Iroh as "father figures".

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodean, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Dumb**

"This is so dumb. It's not even fun!"

"Of course it is! What better than play Pai Sho and drink jasmine tea?"

"Um, how about firebending? Or ordering servants around? Or going outside and _actually having a life_?"

"A life cannot be wholly spent by work. It makes the mind and body grow old."

"_What?_"

"You have never heard of that phrase? It means—"

"Nevermind, Uncle. . . Agni, this is _so boring_!"

"Do not blame me for your stay. I don't want to be here either."

"So let's _do _something."

"We are doing something. We are playing Pai Sho. We are practicing strategy and patience."

"That's so dumb."

"You don't have a very large vocabulary, do you?"

"Yes I do! My father says so."

"He never had a very large one either. . ."

"So?"

"Have you ever considered expanding it? I have a dictionary—"

"Your dictionary is good."

"_Dumb—To be lacking in intelligence; a moron; uneducated; mute_. . ."

"Ugh."

"Would you rather play Pai Sho?"

"No."

_The door opened, and Azula hurriedly rushed out the moment her father appeared. Ozai looked questioningly at the Pai Sho game, the jasmine tea, and the dictionary in Iroh's hand. He raised a skeptical brow. _"Your form of entertainment, I presume?"

"Entertainment _and _education."

"That's so dumb."


	24. How It Made Me Smile II

Originally, this one was gonna go somewhere else, but it took an unexpected turn (or at least, from my perspective. . .). And I need to come up with more drabbles. I'm running out of my stock D:

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**How It Made Me Smile II**

He heard the door to his study click close. Ozai paused, looking up from his massive pile of work, brush still in hand.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Azula stood there, her arms crossed and pouting, glaring at her shoes. She grumbled something. Ozai set his brush back in the ink pot.

"What did you say?"

"Mom wants you to punish me." Azula sighed heavily, dropping her arms and leaning against the door, as if the entire point of it was useless. It was plain to see that she was annoyed, her foot tapping in impatience, waiting for the punishment to be over with.

"What did you do?" Ozai asked and folded his hands underneath his chin. He had to say that he was curious—Azula was quite the mischievous little thing.

"Switched Zuzu's tea with cactus juice," she said nonchalantly. She caught her father's smirk and raised brow. "Heh, it was pretty funny, y'know? Mom's got him in the hospital wing right now. He's _so_ drunk!"

Ozai chuckled. "Oh really?"

Azula grinned proudly. "Yup!"

"Then that doesn't deserve a punishment. I did the same thing to my brother when I was your age."

"Seriously?"

"Indeed."

They looked at one another and howled with laughter. 'Twas the cackle of two very enthused villains that could not be shared with anyone else.


	25. Behind Closed Doors, Mature

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **Now. I promised myself that I would not do it, and the summary still says that I will not. However, I feel compelled to do at least one chapter of it, and for the writer that I have grown to know and respect for all her brilliance - my friend, TrueThinker. It is her birthday, and thus this is my gift to her. DO NOT flame me on how you do not like this or how you do not support this. If anything, I have rated this chapter "M", and suggest skipping this chapter instead of hatin'. Thank you very much, and happy birthday TrueThinker!

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodean, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Koneitzko

* * *

**Behind Closed Doors**

* * *

**Good Morning Sunrise**

The shafts of warm sunlight filtered through the blood-colored drapes, gently brushing golden rays against the Fire Lord's pale cheek, rousing him from his slumber. He groaned irritably and rolled over on his side, turning away from the sun and meeting the back of his sleeping beloved. Ozai slipped a broad arm around her, pulling her close, kissing the back of her neck. He felt her take in the breath of dawn and relax in his embrace, comforted by his royal touch. He leaned forward into her ear, lips brushing against the tender cartilage.

"Did you enjoy last night?" he asked in a low and sultry tone, teeth protruding and nibbling on her ear. She moaned pleasurably and rubbed up against him, his wide hands spreading over her bare stomach. Ozai chuckled at his wife's response, leaning into her, inhaling her passionate, morning scent. "Do you think you're ready to conceive yet?"

He felt her tense up, become temporarily lost from his touch. Ozai frowned, slightly annoyed, but pulled her waist to his with a strong, reassuring tug. He held her in both arms and rocked her back and forth, like a baby. "Are you afraid it will hurt?"

The body he was holding shifted and melted into his, pressing against him, lips stealing a kiss from his. Her hand brushed his skin softly, nails tickling his chest. Her eyes opened, gold and amber, jewels of fire beauty.

"I'm not afraid of anything."

Ozai smirked. "That's my Azula."

* * *

**It's Between You and Me**

When the Fire Lord rose from his bed and went to his duties, his mattress traditionally needed fixing, and several items around his room needed to be placed in order again. The maids came in and changed his sheets, his pillowcases, wanting their king to feel as comfortable as possible or else suffer his untimely wrath.

They knew that since his wife had passed, Ozai had been a lonely man. He would often bring a woman from one of the many harems around the palace to his quarters, spend the night with her, and leave evidence the next morning. Wood polish was needed to repair the Fire Lord's scorch marks on his bed frame, and it took more than bleach to remove the stains from his sheets. But the maids were quiet about what Ozai did, allowing him the rightful privacy of any noble.

That is, until they found Princess Azula's crown beneath the pillows.

They picked it up, and could only _guess _how it had gotten there, and on such a night as the last. The Fire Lord had been stressed, and they all knew by now how he relieved stress. To think, that their king and his daughter had been in the bed they were cleaning, changing out. They debated whether or not to speak, exploit the couple, when one of the elder maids stepped forward.

"Let us not comprehend the combined force of our Fire Lord and Crowned Princess. If what they do is what the Spirits have told them to, then it is for the royal bloodline. Think of the children, the _gods_, they will bear."

The maids bowed their heads and obeyed, silent for the greater good.


	26. Deathwish

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodean, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Deathwish**

Tonight was one of the most auspicious for the Royal Family.

Fights had broken out. Tears had been shed. Anger had taken control. There was a loss of control. Insults were hurled. Screams were echoed. The talk of death and blood was near.

"C'mon, Azula," Zuko whispered tenderly, following his sister into her room. Emotion lay in the eye of the storm. "Tell me what she said."

"No!" Azula screamed, stopping near her bed, grabbing a pillow; the storm had blown over now. "Get out of here and leave me alone, you fat hog-monkey!"

The pillow burst into flames and she hurled it at him in the doorway. Zuko yelped and leapt out of the way. Azula picked up another pillow to chuck at his head, but in a rush of fear he closed the door, escaping injury. Azula threw the pillow, and the ashes fell to the floor.

Her teeth clenched. Her head bowed. Her toes curled. Oh Agni, did she hate her. _Hate_ her. But despite all her rage she was wounded—so, so, wounded—that all she could do was collapse on her bed, ripping the covers over head and pulling her knees up to her chest.

It wasn't fair. Her mother loved Zuko so much more. Yet, despite all of her efforts with firebending and good grades and making friends and doing all the things a good little girl should do, it wasn't enough, it was _never_ enough. And now, she was. . . she was. . .

She couldn't even bring herself to say it.

All Azula knew was that she hated her. So much, that she didn't care what happened to herself or her brother or her father or the rest of her family, just that she wanted her mother to go away, go far, far away, and pretend that she hadn't said what she did. Banish her, imprison her, enslave her—it didn't matter what happened, Azula wanted her to leave.

But she didn't want her to die. Then she would never be able to get revenge, and force Ursa to take her words back.

She slept with this wish in her head. Get rid of her mother. Make her go away. Keep her locked up. Anything to force her to leave.

She slept so heavily with these thoughts that when Ursa came to her room—a crimson hood over her head, her hands stained with blood, her tears dry against her face—that she did not feel her mother's touch upon her temple, kissing it softly. Ursa did not want to wake her daughter—she looked so peaceful. Not at all like a monster. . . Ozai was wrong.

Azula woke the following morning. She sat there in bed, the covers over her legs, perplexed. The storm was over.

She smirked.

Her wish had come true.


	27. Epsilon

_Note: _I do not own this drabble list. I got it off of the Avatar Onesentence community on LJ. It's not because of my lack of ideas, but merely a different style of writing - more poetic at some points, I think. Oh, and it would be nice if you could review to tell me which one is your favorite :)

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Epsilon**

_01. Motion_

"Watch me carefully," Ozai said as the lightning crackled at his fingertips, his daughter standing a good twelve feet away. "One day you will learn how to do this yourself."

_02. Cool_

During the summers, Azula was known to torch her sheets because it would grow so hot in the night, and she cursed herself for being such a gifted individual.

_03. Young_

Iroh was not the only one that noticed the family resemblance (and reputations) of the Princess and the Fire Lord.

_04. Last_

Azula had never realized that other than her father, she was the only one that had heard Azulon's final words, and they weren't even of death, but of the refusal of Ozai's wishes.

_05. Wrong_

"You're right, Azula, you're always right."

_06. Gentle_

They say that babies can't smile, but Azula certainly did when she looked up from her father's arms the moment she was born.

_07. One_

The Phoenix King was the most powerful being in the world—and he had left his only promise of fortune at home; he needed no sidekick or tagalong.

_08. Thousand_

"Just imagine one thousand suns burning inside you, Azula, burning, burning, _burning_."

_09. King_

"When you become Fire Lord," Iroh declared. "You will regret not what you have done to yourself, but what you have done to others."

_10. Learn_

It pained Ursa to see her son walk out of his father's training sessions burned and bruised, but it absolutely wounded her to see when Azula had come out without a scratch and a triumphant, slightly sadistic, grin on her face.

_11. Blur_

Azula watched her father's Agni Kai, his hands and feet glowing orange and white and red and a billion other blazing colors, fast and terrible, driving sheer rage and power into the lowly servant that had defied him, and she was absolutely amazed.

_12. Wait_

"Will you ever let him free again?" Azula asked her brother fifteen years after the war.

_13. Change_

"You're turning her into a _monster_," Ursa hissed, and at those words Ozai whirled around and pushed his face into hers, snarling, "I'm turning her into a _god_."

_14. Command_

"It doesn't matter what you or I say to her," Zuko reasoned with Azula's therapist. "The only one she's ever listened to is our dad."

_15. Hold_

Aang told his newest student, Azula, that she needed to let go of the past in order to redeem herself, but the idea of leaving her father behind was impossible.

_16. Need_

Her mother could have been there for her, but as a youth, Azula had never wanted her help; lying on the cobblestoned floor of her prison cell, Azula wanted nobody else.

_17. Vision_

"I had a peculiar dream once," Ozai said to his brother. "That one day the world would burn in blue fire, and that I was its ruler."

_18. Attention_

"Pick me up _now_!" Azula demanded as she stood on the wet shore of the beach, her arms stretched above her head, pouting indignantly.

_19. Soul_

"Don't do to me what you did to him," Azula cowered when the Avatar entered her cell. "I don't want my bending taken away, please."

_20. Picture_

Zuko was not the only one watching the family portrait burn.

_21. Fool_

She exercised her bending every day, every hour, and every spare moment that she had, whether it be blue flames bursting from her palms or mere ember sparkles at her fingertips, because she never wanted to hear the words of a failure.

_22. Mad_

It was truly a pity to see that some of the greatest firebenders and royal leaders in Fire Nation history were now both criminally insane.

_23. Child_

Azula just silently watched him from the other side of the bars as he drooled and moaned, helpless like a baby.

_24. Now_

"He left me," Azula spat. "He left me, he left me _alone_."

_25. Shadow_

It was an amusing and endearing sight to the sentries of the palace to see Prince Ozai's little three year old daughter toddle after him through the halls and grab at his robe.

_26. Goodbye_

The thought of being Fire Lord absolutely thrilled her, but watching as the Phoenix King drifted off into the sun, she realized that he was gone, and probably never coming home; going to conquer the world.

_27. Hide_

"Ssh, it'll be over soon," Zuko whispered, cradling his little sister as they hid in the closet in the dark, listening to the awful sounds of their parents fighting three doors down. . . something about a monster.

_28. Fortune_

Azula and Ozai reclined in the expansive and steaming royal spa, enjoying their time as all people do when they are the richest in the world.

_29. Safe_

"I entrust that you'll never tell him," Ozai said to Azula, his large hands on her little shoulders. "Because if you do, he will search for her, and we cannot let that happen."

_30. Ghost_

Even when she had become old and grey, it was hard to erase her father's image from her mind, lying wide awake as he stood in the moonlight of her windowsill, watching her as always.

_31. Book_

"I _can't_ go to bed," Azula insisted as she was stretched in front of the hundreds of textbooks and scrolls, even as Mai and Ty Lee knew that it was long past midnight; Azula could not disappoint her teacher.

_32. Eye_

She was his apple—ripe, red, and ready for picking (to mold into the perfect weapon).

_33. Never_

"You lay even the _slightest_ pedophilic hand on her," Ozai snarled as he grabbed Zhao by the collar, shoving him against the wall after he had seen the captain eyeing his daughter with more than friendless. "And I will do _more_ than kill you."

_34. Sing_

"Zuko's nothing but a mockingbird of the more gifted fowl."

_35. Sudden_

"Dad. . ." Azula called, approaching her father as he stood pensively in front of his window, the sky dark and grey. "Where's mom?

_36. Stop_

Even pushed to her limit, Ozai never once called off a training session, and instead drilled her through it until she got it _perfect_.

_37. Time_

It went by fast as Fire Lord, but achingly slow in prison.

_38. Wash_

"Azula, you've got ash all over you!" Ursa exclaimed when her daughter returned from her first firebending lesson, grinning widely.

_39. Torn_

Ozai couldn't make up his mind—to punish Azula, or not to punish?

_40. History_

Azula sat on his knee as they poured over the ancient book, Ozai indicating a finger to various Fire Lords, saying, "You see these people? We'll be like them, but we'll have books of our own."

_41. Power_

They both wanted it, they both craved it, but no matter how hard they tried, they could never get enough of it (_masochists of their own demise_. . .).

_42. Bother_

Ursa rolled over in bed and nudged him in the shoulder, muttering sleepily, "It's your turn."

_43. God_

"We are born as the great descendents of Agni."

_44. Wall_

All that separated them in prison was cement and iron.

_45. Naked_

Each time Azula knelt before the Fire Lord's throne, a part of her felt stripped and bare, for she knew that Ozai always knew when she was lying, so she always did the best to cover herself up.

_46. Drive_

It was an internal and uncontrollable force that drove them over the edge, but they lived on high with it.

_47. Harm_

There had been reasons the young Princess had worn so many layers in her youth.

_48. Precious_

Funny, that Ozai was never concerned about his daughter's health (but then again, she was never sick).

_49. Hunger_

"Just don't tell your mother," Ozai whispered, sneaking Azula a lava cookie behind his back.

_50. Believe_

"You can do anything you set your mind to, Azula."


	28. The Cold Blooded Fire

**

* * *

Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**The Cold-Blooded Fire**

The crash of thunder weighed heavily in her chest.

The two of them stood out in the rolling meadows on the other side of the island, facing the ocean cliffside, backs to the palace. Only a mile or so over the water was a storm, sneaking closer and closer to the shore. Black clouds loomed near, vibrant flashes illuminating the sky. Now, it only needed to rain.

Ozai stood on the edge of the bluff, hands behind his back as he inhaled the moist, tropical gale rushing off the sea, rich in the smell of rain and electricity. He glanced at the little girl behind him, watching the tempest near.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, voice as deep as the echoing thunder. Amber eyes flickered to his, vibrant and defensive.

"No," she replied. "What are we _doing_ out here anyways?"

"I told you," he said simplistically. "I'm going to show you something that I hope to teach you. Not now, but in your future."

"Well, what is it? Is it firebending? I already know how to do that, I'm the top—"

"What I'm going to show you, Azula, _is_ firebending, but not the kind you know."

Azula's brow furrowed. Her father was being weird and obscure again. He often spoke in riddles no one quite understood.

With a flash of lightning, it began to drizzle. Azula groaned. She hated the rain. "Great, now it's raining."

Ozai did not seem to notice. He inhaled the air again, the wind pushing back his robes and hair, and raised his arms to either side of his body, as if he were about to jump off the cliff and take flight. He exhaled. "_Marvelous_."

_That doesn't make sense_, Azula thought, _How does he expect to firebend in the rain?_

"Stand back!" Ozai commanded like the crack of a whip, suddenly angry. Somewhat startled, Azula obeyed, walking several paces backwards.

In a flurry Ozai tore off his robes, leaving him in a pair of hotsquat pants. He still had his arms spread, absorbing the power of the storm.

And then he began to move his arms in great, wide circles, two fingers on each hand extended. At first, Azula thought the arching movements were rather silly, when something seemed to spark and fizzle at the invisible edges. White and brief, she quickly concluded that her father was not firebending. The storm, the focus, the movements—now, it all made sense.

He was bending—no, _creating_—lightning!

Suddenly the blinding-white electricity was surrounding him, coiling around his naked arms and rippling between his toes, curling over his spine and chest. His fingers held the wild snake of energy, concentrating it, empowering it. With a dramatic turn to the cliff he unleashed a blue-white scar into the black fabric of the sky, ripping the fragile seams. The flash was violent and godly and raw, so that when Azula blinked she could still see its imprint in the sky. It made her blood run cold.

Ozai generated more and more lightning, producing faster, deadlier strikes, throwing them into the storm. He was a Spirit of Lightning, the bolts flying from his fingertips, like terrifying cobalt dragons.

Azula couldn't wait until he taught her how to do it.


	29. Family Portrait

_Author's Note: _This was originally supposed to be an AU, in case you couldn't tell. But it's not. I decided to stick with the Avatarverse. Meh, just thought I should let you all know. Also inadvertently inspired by P!nk's song "Family Portrait".

**

* * *

Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Family Portrait**

It was a beautiful morning on Ember Island. The sun was shining, the breeze was balmy, and seemed to be the absolutely perfect day for a family function.

The Royal Family was no different.

"But mom, which one should I wear?!" Azula whined from her bedroom, pointing at both a red dress and standard Princess attire. Ursa, who was hurriedly fixing her son's topknot, did not have the chance to look over.

"I don't know, dear, pick the one you like," Ursa replied.

"Ow! Geez mom!" Zuko whimpered when she pulled on the topknot's ribbons so they painfully pulled his hair. He felt like it was going to rip out of his scalp. "Why do we have to look so pretty, anyways? I look like a girl!"

"It's the family portrait, Zuko," Ursa explained, loosening the ribbons so he was comfortable. "You know we hardly ever do this while we're here."

"_Mom_!" Azula called indignantly. "_Which one should I wear_?"

"Ask your father, I need to get ready."

Azula huffed loudly and rolled her eyes. Zuko, standing in the doorway, snickered. She glared at him. "What are you giggling about?"

"You gotta wear a dress and I don't!" he teased.

"At least _I'm_ actually a girl," she shot back, tilting her nose up. Zuko's cheeks flamed red, and he clenched his fists. Azula examined her nails. "Just get dad for me."

Zuko frowned and did an about-face, stomping through the wooden hallway until he came into the parlor. Ozai was pacing the floor, his hands in a flurry of motions and talking as if shouting. One of his officials, more than likely a messenger, had come along to exchange messages with the Prince from the capital. The work of a political symbol could never tire.

"What do you mean Whey can't do it?!" he roared. "I need someone to represent me! Whey's a coward! Go get Xang, if you have to! Why, I'd be there myself it wasn't for this stupid vaca—"

"Hey dad. . ."

"_What_?!" Ozai reeled on his son, sensitive to external interruptions. Zuko physical shrank before his father's appearance. "_Well_?"

"Oh! Um. . . Azula needs help picking out her dress."

Ozai looked as if he wanted to smash the expensive Makapu vase on the table next to him. He sighed heavily, and turned to his official. "Fine, fine. Send Xang."

While his back had been turned, a speedy messenger hawk had apparently swooped in through the open windows to the messenger. The messenger now had an open scroll, and with trembling lips he said, "It. . . It appears that Whey is able to do it now. . ."

"_Now_ he can?!" Ozai snarled. "Why can't he make up his bloody mind?!"

He returned to shouting. Zuko skedaddled back upstairs, only to find that Azula had chosen the typical royal attire; Ursa was dressed similarly behind her.

"Outta the way, dumb-dumb!" Azula exclaimed. She spread her arms wide and pranced down the stairs, striking him in the chest and knocking him down.

"Hey!" Zuko cried, stumbling, and pushed back. "Knock it off!"

"Children!" Ursa scolded, pulling them apart. "Into the drawing room! Now!"

"Race you there!" Azula exclaimed, and leapt over the banister.

"Cheater!" Zuko hollered after, jumping down the last five steps.

Ursa gave up, looking instead at her husband. He was still pacing. "Ozai, let's go."

"In a minute, I need Whey to—"

"The artisan has already been here for twenty minutes, we're late."

"A family portrait can wait, a meeting with the war generals without someone to represent—"

"The kids are already there," Ursa stated coldly, and swiftly walked across the parlor and into the drawing room. She opened the mahogany door to find that her children were fighting over a single chair, trying to squirm and claim the seat.

"I can burn you, y'know!" Zuko threatened, waving up a hand of fire.

"Um, I can do that too, dumb-dumb," Azula sneered, holding up her own hand of fire. Before either of them could hit each other or burn something down, Ursa hurried over and snatched both of their wrists.

"Cut it out, you two! You know that there's no firebending in the house! And we have a guest!" she scolded until they were both frowning, looking annoyingly at her, but simultaneously slid off the chair and onto the floor. Ursa turned to the artisan, who was to be sketching their portrait. She lifted a hand to her heart. "My apologies, Yao. If my husband could. . ."

As if on cue, Ozai burst through the door, hurriedly taking the chair that the kids had been fighting over and promptly sitting in it. He smoothed his robes quickly and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Let's get this thing over with."

"I'm sitting by dad!" Azula shouted and bouncing to her father's left. Ursa took a chair beside her husband, and Zuko sat on the floor in front of her. They were still.

"Is everyone ready?" Ursa asked, hoping to give Yao the OK. It was actually him, the artisan, that looked up and pointed his brush at them.

"If you could have the young Prince and Princess switch, that would be proportionately better. . ."

"But I wanna sit by dad!" Azula complained loudly.

"Sit by your mother," Ozai grunted irritably. Among his family, his robes were the thickest, and the sun was streaming through the open window of the house. It was making him very uncomfortable. Azula took it as her sign to move and angrily switched places with her brother. Ursa's knee bumped her in the back of her head.

"Look nice, and don't make faces."

Azula instantly shot a look at Zuko. "Yeah, look nice Zuzu. Don't make faces."

"I wasn't making any," he replied.

"Yeah you did. You still are. It's all over you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're ugly."

"That's enough, Azula," Ozai said heatedly, and she clamped her mouth shut, sitting back on her knees.

"I'm going to begin. . ." Yao said loudly, holding his brush in the air and beginning to sketch. Now all they had to do was sit still.

Ursa sighed. "You know it's only when _you _reprimand her that she listens," she stated in an undertone to her husband. "Thank you."

"It's not a matter of reprimanding her," Ozai replied, one hand on his knee, the other on his son's shoulder. "But telling her when she's at the limit. If the same could be done for Zuko. . ."

Ursa frowned. "You know that Zuko is not the same."

"Yes, yes, I know." Ozai closed his eyes and breathed out, disappointed. He looked aimlessly ahead. It was better to get it over with by staring at the sundial outside, ignoring his family until he could speak with the messenger again.

"Mom, how long do we have to sit here?" Zuko complained, the circulation being cut off from sitting back on his knees for the five minutes they had been there, not to mention the sun.

"Until the artisan is done with his caricature," Azula filled in.

"What's a cari. . . cari. . ." Zuko's brow knitted.

"Caricature: A drawing or description ludicrously exaggerating the peculiarities or defects of persons or things; in other words, you and your big elephant-pig ears," Azula replied, sounding as if she had been reading it out of a book.

"I don't have big elephant-pig ears!"

"Azula, what did I tell you?" Ursa scolded once again. Her daughter sighed and looked boredly ahead, hands folded in front of her, waiting for the portrait to be over. Ursa glanced at the sundial. "It shouldn't take all that long, dear. And you don't have elephant-pig ears."

Zuko sighed, not sure as how to reply. His mother sounded so kind. He looked sadly away.

In about an hour of prolonged silence the portrait was finished. Ozai quickly stood up and exited the room, heading back to the messenger as he had been wanting to. Azula muttered something about firebending outside, and Zuko decided to make a lone trip to the beach. Ursa got up to shake Yao's hand, and watched with interest as he fit the portrait into a handmade frame. They hung it on the wall in the parlor, directly in the entryway of the humble beach house.

To think that they had all made a pose for nothing when it burned in a fire seven years later.


	30. Lost Bloodlines

**Author's Note: **Wow. I honestly can't believe that I've made it to 30 chapters. I thought I would have quit by now, or run out of ideas, but they just keep coming (actually, as a sidenote, I nearly forgot to update today, haha). But I really like this chapter - it emphasizes a possible friendship that I adore.

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Lost Bloodlines**

The wedding was extravagant—the grand ballroom was shrouded in veils of proud scarlet and gold, the long tables adorned with dishes from around the world, complete with huge bouquets of colorful flowers and centerpieces, a live tsungi horn orchestra reverberating the vaulted black marble ceilings—and all of this was needed, for it was no ordinary wedding.

Fire Lord Zuko was getting married to Lady Mai.

It was already nighttime when the royal feast of dragonfish and boar-q-pine had been held, and slowly forgotten as the tsungi horns were raised in a harmonious, jovial manner. The newlyweds took to the dance floor in a classic and noble waltz, as was the tradition of all weddings. As the songs became more enthusiastic, more couples took to the floor, until nearly everyone was dancing and having a wonderful time.

Azula sat with her back to the crowd, sitting at one of the long tables and tracing her finger around the top of a crystal goblet. It let out a soft ringing sound that could scarcely be heard above the tsungi horns. Without Mai or Ty Lee by her side, she was not the people person she had thought she was. She didn't even notice Katara sit down next to her.

"Hey," the waterbender greeted. "What's wrong? Why don't you go dance?"

Azula looked over her shoulder, brow furrowing, and frowning. She glanced darkly at her. "It's the father-daughter dance."

She went back to the crystal goblet. Katara's smile fell.

"Oh."

Katara hesitated. Her eyes went to the crystal goblet Azula was currently ringing, watching her finger trace its edges. She suddenly had a bright idea, grinning.

"Stay here. I'll be right back," Katara said, and Azula rolled her eyes.

"Well it's certainly not like I'm _going_ anywhere," she drawled, and with a twirl of her cerulean gown Katara was lost in the crowd. Azula sighed heavily, one hand on her cheek in a rather bored way. Why hadn't she just _left _yet? It was only Zuzu's stupid wedding. Oh yeah—that thing called courtesy. Since her release from the mental facility, she was supposed to be _nice_. But who knew it could be so depressing?

"Um, hello. Are you Azula?"

Azula looked up to find a man about twice her age, his skin dark and his face beginning to line with wrinkles. He was dressed in an elegant blue suit, the clasps on his chest white and engraved with the symbol of the Water Tribes. His periwinkle eyes glimmered in the gold light. They were soft.

"Yes. . ."

The man did not look the most comfortable, but introduced himself anyways. "My name is Hakoda. I'm Katara's father. . . She was. . ."

Azula blinked. She suddenly understood what Katara's idea had been. Tears instinctively came to her eyes, and she quickly turned away. "Thank you, but no thank you. Now, if you could please leave me alone, I would be grateful."

She had learned to turn her sharp and cruel words into formal, detached ones, holding back the sickening feeling in her gut.

Hakoda did not leave.

"You don't even want to try?" he asked, holding up a hand. Azula glanced at him, brow raised.

"_Why_? You're not my father. _My_ father is still in prison, rotting away in his own filth," she hissed. Her finger stopped tracing the crystal goblet, her nail now scratching on the delicate glass.

"I never said that I was."

"Well, you implied it."

"Katara asked me to dance with you."

Azula snorted. It would be like Katara to come up with such a thing. Hakoda took a seat on the bench next to her, where Katara had once been.

"Listen," he said. "I know you and I don't know each other that well, but Katara has told me that you and your father were. . . close."

"You could say that."

"And you and Katara have become close as well."

"I suppose."

"So. . . I'm certain your father would be doing the same thing I am now, if given the situation."

He actually got a smile out of her. "I highly doubt that."

"Why do you say that?"

"Daddy was not the most. . . understanding person, if you catch my drift."

Hakoda nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that. Understanding one another is definitely an important element in a family."

"Yes. And understanding is not quite what my family has." Azula looked over her other shoulder at her mother, who was in a gossipy conversation with Ty Lee's parents, laughing her night away, a cup of sake in hand.

"It takes time to develop," Hakoda stated, catching Azula's attention.

"What does?"

"Understanding. Some families get it the moment they are married, but for others, it takes years—decades—to know how they all work and what roles they play. It's more difficult than it appears," Hakoda explained, glancing at his daughter. She was dancing in a circle of friends.

"And you know this _how_?"

"When I first got married, I thought I knew everything about my family. . . but the war. . . The war changed everything. I leave for a few years and come back not knowing my own son or daughter. You don't know how long it's taken me to reconnect with Katara."

Azula fell silent. She took a sip of what was in her crystal goblet. "Is it because you two are apart that you're not dancing?"

"No. The reason we're not dancing is because she wanted you to with me. Katara and I are actually the closest we've ever been."

"And how exactly did you manage that?"

"I talked to her. I got to know who she was. You know, quality father-daughter time."

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't know what you mean. My father. . ." she trailed off. It was all too obvious by now as to what the rest of her sentence would have been.

"Azula," Hakoda said seriously, but softly. Even from where he was, he could see the sadness beginning to overtake the young woman again. The tears were welling in her eyes. "Are you sure you don't want to dance with me?"

She found that she could not look at him. She didn't know whether it was the kindness in his voice or the concern in his eyes that reminded her that he was everything her father was not. She could easily tell how he and Katara were related—was it possible that Azula and her father were the same? Could people tell that they were related?

Then again. . . she had grown close to Katara. Like a sister. It had been Katara that had helped her heal. Perhaps Hakoda. . .

"All right," Azula decided. "I'll. . . dance."

Hakoda smiled warmly, and she took his hand. The father-daughter song was nearly over, but they went to the dance floor anyways. It didn't take long for Hakoda to chuckle; Azula raised a suspicious brow.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"You're a little. . . short," he responded. It was true—he was at least a head taller than her. "But don't worry. Step up on my shoes."

It sounded strange to her, but she did it anyways. He made a face as her heels dug into his toes, pain shooting up his legs. Azula frowned.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked.

Hakoda sucked in a gulp of air, the pain fading away. "No, no. Nothing. Let's just dance."

And they did, in the way that a father and daughter should.


	31. Until Your Plate is Clean

**

* * *

Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Until Your Plate is Clean**

During the summer, the royal palace was known for being busy—what with the blazing sun always pleasant for bending, the heightening of political activity, and the general chaos of the everyday event.

Since Zuko was _still _at firebending practice and Ozai was in a war meeting with his father, Azula and Ursa were dining alone together at the dinner table one night, despite the displeasure of not having the entire family with them; Ursa longed to speak with her son about his troubles with firebending, and Azula would have preferred to discuss _her_ firebending with Ozai.

Azula poked at the smoked sea-slug on her plate with a chopstick. "_Ychh_."

"It's not that bad, dear. The least you can do is try it," Ursa spoke up, seeing the disgusted look on her daughter's face.

"Yes, but watch and it'll be poisoned."

Ursa sighed heavily. It seemed that her daughter's most recent complaint had been concerning poison or an assassination of some sort—well, at least it was better than her past complaints of contaminated water and bed bugs.

"It's not poisoned, Azula. The cooks have already tested it," Ursa tried to reason, but Azula just shoved her plate away. "Please eat something. Have some rice or noodles, at least."

"No. I'm not eating until dad's here."

"You know he's in a war meeting, Azula. He won't be out until you're asleep."

"Can I stay up late?"

"Only if you finish your dinner."

Azula groaned, staring at the sea slug. She paled at the mere thought of eating such a. . . _thing_. With two fingers, she pinched the edge of the plate and brought it back towards her, nose wrinkling at the awful stench. The slug was whole and facing her.

"But mom, it's _staring_ at me," she whined.

"You don't have to eat it all. Just take five bites."

The thought was still unappetizing. Azula turned the plate slowly so the slug was no longer staring at her. She picked up her chopstick and poked it. It jiggled, and a blue-green pus oozed out from her jab. She abruptly sat up, actually scooting her chair back so it scraped against the floor.

"See mom!" she exclaimed, pointing at the funny-colored liquid. "I told you it was poisoned!"

"That's not poison, dear," Ursa explained calmly, showing her daughter the inside of her own slug. "It's just the meat."

"But it's. . . _green_!"

"And full of healthy vitamins. Eat it. It will make you into a strong firebender."

Among what Ursa had said the entire night, this was the one thing Azula found appealing. Her mother rarely discussed with her about firebending—it was more of a father-daughter thing. Azula scooted herself back to the table and stabbed a chunk of the sausage-shaped bottomfeeder. With her other chopstick she pulled it away from the purplish-grey skin, lifting the piece towards her mouth. She swallowed it.

Four bites later, Azula shoved the plate away from her, hugging her stomach. "Okay. _Now _can I stay up and wait for dad?"

Ursa, who had already finished eating, nodded. "Yes. I'm very proud of you, Azula."

Before Azula could say anything, she suddenly vanished from her spot and ran to the nearest bathroom, her face green. Ursa frowned, and hurriedly followed her to make sure she was all right.

It turned out that Azula was allergic to sea slugs.


	32. And the Warm Teared Rain

**

* * *

Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

**

* * *

And the Warm-Teared Rain**

Nothing would get in her way.

Azula tore through the brush, incinerating tree leaves and burning bushes at her touch, clearing away the fauna-choked terrain. The path may have been covered with thick roots and vines, but to have erased its destination from her mind would have been impossible. Despite all of the memories that were lost and confused, the ones that remained were what kept her sane.

Thunder rumbled in the sky when she set foot in the meadow. She looked up at the sky, swirling grey, fading to black. It wouldn't be long until the storm would arrive.

She walked through the tall grass, wild and yellow as she had remembered it. The palace at her back. The cliff and the sea at her front. The ocean breeze, tropical and warm. She could taste the salt on her lips as she neared the edge, the sea below crashing aquamarine waves to the bluff.

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She was still looking at the sky—the sky, that ever-churning distant sky—and waiting for it to come. The lightning. The exhilaration. The power. The fear.

Just as her father had done, she removed the topmost layer of robes, discarding them to the wind. She stood with her toes curling over the cliff's edge; if she were to go any further, she would fall to her death.

A raindrop splattered her cheek. She twitched and hastily wiped it away, her mind screaming that she had broken her stance, the flow of what her father had taught her.

"It will be fine," Azula told herself, feeling another drop on her skin, and then another, and another. "Everything will be fine."

It was soon pouring. The water soaked through her clothes, and the wind blew harder. The thunder cracked, her ears vibrating from the sound. Their baritone voices echoed that of her father's.

"_You must be calm, you must be steady_."

Azula fell naturally into the stance.

"_To procure lightning is an art. You must be poised, and wrought with technique_."

Her movements, fluid and precise, were what she had trained to become instinct.

"_You must be perfect. Your aim must be true. And your mind must be set_."

The thunder crashed again, and she knew it was time.

Her fingers struck twelve as she drew them into circles, twirling and commanding them so, wringing the white-blue serpent between her hands. It crackled and hissed, live, wrapping itself around her wrists, her arms, her neck, her chest. It was everywhere with nowhere to go, screaming for freedom. She drew the lightning dragon close to her heart.

One wrong move and it was certain death.

With a dramatic step forward and a direct face to the storm and two fingers pointed out, Azula released the lightning, the cobalt coils skittering up her arm and out the very tip of her fingernails, reaching and clawing out to the fabricated heavens, only for it to suddenly come shooting back at her, retreating.

There was an explosion, and the next thing she knew she was knocked off her feet, her back on the muddy ground. She groaned in pain, smelling burnt flesh through the rain. She raised her a hand to her shoulder—she was bleeding, and bleeding badly. She had punctured an artery. Nevertheless, she stood up.

She was going to try again.

She did try. Again. And again. And again. But to no avail. Blood streamed down her entire left side, her legs feeling weak, her mind growing irrational, but she would not fall. The rain beat against her, and the mud slathered her eyes, but they would not prevent her from reliving the only moment she could remember of her father.

The storm became terrible. Trees blew over, lightning struck the plains, and there was word of flooding in the town. It was the worst weather of the summer.

Zuko finally burst through the brush, Mai and Ty Lee and Iroh and Ursa behind him. His rain-soaked eyes scanned the tempest-blown landscape, running forward.

"_Azula_!" he shouted, shouted, and shouted. "Azula! Azula!"

She had fallen to her knees. She stood up, turning, when he caught her by the shoulders.

"Azula! What are you doing?!"

"I can't do it," she whispered hoarsely, panicked and frightened. She slowly fell to her knees again, slumping in his grasp.

"I can't do it, I can't do it, I _can't do it. . . . . ._"


	33. Lesson Learned III

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the late update. . . My computer is being worked on a couple of days, and because I hate being late and didn't want to post two chapters on Thursday, and decided to update now. . . And it's also really short, I just realized. . .

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Lesson Learned III  
**

"Sit down."

Azula did. Hands folded in her lap, ankles crossed, head down - the posture of a guilty child. She snuck a glance up at Ozai, silhoutted by the fire place, his back to her. If she could just see his face. . .

"Your mother and I have talked."

More like shouted. Argued. The entire palace had heard their quarrel.

"And I would like to tell you that the information you heard in grandfather's chamber is false."

Azula looked up instantly. "False?" she echoed. "But I was there! Grandfather said to you that 'you must know the pain of losing - ' "

" - a first born son," Ozai cut in, turning around so she could see his cold, pallid face. It reminded her of one of the stone dragons situated outside the palace entrance. "Or would you have rather that he said 'daughter'?"

Azula blinked, shocked that her father would say such a thing. "_What_?"

Ozai faced the fire place once more. "You better start behaving, Azula. . . There are going to be some very significant changes around here soon, and I do not need you to get in the way."

Azula was quiet. _Stock. Still._

Ozai snorted. "You may leave."

And she did, leaping out of her chair and skittering down the hall before she had the chance to ask what she had done wrong.


	34. Protege

Mega apologies on the lack of updates for the past few weeks. MEGA. I've been without my laptop, and I haven't had the most Avatar inspiration lately. But you know, I'm actually determined to get this ficlet out to 100 chapters if I can - **WolvenFire86** is my inspiration for 100 oneshot fics that center around a certain subject. And I've been trying to write something like this chapter for a while - which, was inspired by another fic, but if I tell you which one, I fear I may give the chapter away. Review/PM if you want to know what fic it was :)

* * *

**Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Koneitzko

* * *

You stand quietly in the courtyard shadow, watching her practice.

Flames lick with ease from the ends of her fingertips. A gifted child, a perfect daughter. She is swift like the crane and strong like the tiger, and much more elite than her classmates at the Academy. It was the reason you pulled her out, got her own personal trainer, taught her the ways of the royal blood. Like a good, quiet girl she swallowed the teachings whole, and now you watch her, feet skating over the grassy knoll of the courtyard like you had so many years ago.

Something inside you clenches. You have the urge to teach her something. But you stay in the shadows, considering this - she is certainly capable of whatever you teach her, and she will give you no fuss. She rarely fusses or causes trouble, and it reminds you of your brother. Always so goody-goody and obedient. Nearly sickening. But you figured that over a matter of time, it was all about _who _she listened to. And that was you.

So you clapped, slow and regal, walking into the blazing sunlight. Summers were always hotter in the Fire Nation, and today was no different. She jumps around, hands raised, a challenge in her fierce little eyes. Your daughter relaxes at the sight of you, if not rendering herself defenseless. She knows not to harm you.

"That was a well performance," you say, smiling. "Wherever did you learn it?"

She freezes when you speak, like there is an aura of ice surrounding you. You can see the heartbeat behind her eyes, and you know that any second now, she will be compelled to lie. The question is, would she? _Dare _she?

And then she looks up at you, and you can see your reflection in her face. Literally. So shaped, so sculpted, so _exactly _like your own. She really is your daughter.

"No, mother."

You smile. Of course, she would never lie to you. That was the way you taught her. And she always listens, always obeys.

Just like your father had taught you.


	35. Enurisis

What... What's this? Is this... What I think it is? It's... It's... IT'S AN UPDATE! HOLY CRAP! OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!

That's right. It's an update. Guess what I've started watching again? Yup. My beloved Avatar: The Last Airbender. I've been meaning to brush up on it for the longest time - and now I've gotten my circle of friends to watch it in anticipation for this summer's movie.

So... Who's missed me?

**

* * *

Like Father, Like Daughter  
**_By Nikkel_  
(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

**Enurisis**

Ursa smoothed the crimson sheets, fluffing the enormous Fire Nation-themed pillow. She took a step back to admire the freshly-made bed, and looked at Azula, who stood next to her with her arms crossed.

"How's this?" Ursa asked.

Azula shrugged. "I guess it'll have to do..."

Ursa sat down on the mattress and patted the place beside her. "Come here, Azula. We can talk about this."

The eight year-old's cheeks reddened. "I don't want to."

"I know it's embarrassing, dear. But that's why I'm here, so we can talk about this."

"No. You'll tell dad."

"I won't tell him. I promise."

Azula raised an eyebrow. "Promise?"

Ursa nodded. "Of course. It will be just between me and you."

Sighing, Azula took a reluctant seat next to her mother, her arms still crossed.

"Now," Ursa said, laying a gentle hand on Azula's back. "Is it the nightmares again? Is that what's bothering you?"

Azula quickly avoided her mother's gaze, glaring hard at the floor. "No."

"Then what is it, my child?"

"I don't know. My bladder's just stupid."

"Have you been taking your medicine?"

"No."

"And why not?"

"It tastes yucky."

"Azula, that's no reason not to take your medicine. Medicine is to help you get better."

Azula shrugged. "Is the lecture over yet?"

Ursa released a sigh and let her hand fall. Despite Azula being her only daughter, she was extremely difficult to talk to. She wished she had the chance to talk to Azula more, but this was the most she ever got out of her.

"All right then, I'll leave you alone," Ursa said, standing up. Azula crawled beneath the silk sheets and settled in by herself. "And go back to sleep. No firebending."

"Yes, mother."

"Goodnight again, Azula."

Ursa blew out the candle, the little Princess's room cast in darkness. Azula rolled over on her pillow but did not close her eyes, her ears listening hard for the conversation just beyond the door...

"Is she still wetting the bed?" Her father asked, voice low but harsh.

"I'm afraid so, Ozai," Ursa replied.

Ozai snorted. "This is getting ridiculous. She's eight years old! What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know. I've tried talking to her, and she said she's not taking her medicine-"

"And _why not_?"

"I-"

"Well, you should figure out what's wrong with her. I won't tolerate this nonsense anymore. _Goodnight_."

Azula pulled the sheets up to her neck and squeezed her legs together. Her father was right—he was _always _right—and wetting the bed was ridiculous, and she couldn't do it anymore.

But she _just couldn't help it_.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: You'll find that enurisis (compulsive bedwetting) is a symptom of serial killers, alongside other sociopathic behaviors, like pyromania and animal abuse. Interesting, is it not?


	36. Azula the Great

**Azula the Great****  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

The mighty Fire-Lord-to-be Azula sat on her throne, regal and proud. The blue flames at her feet were just an example of the power in her hands, the iron force of the Fire Nation at her mercy. She was the High Commander, the Ultimate Liege, the Supreme Ruler of the Land. And no one could steal this away from her.

Everyone wanted to be where she was, she knew this. They envied her divine right to rule and they lusted to be with her, to rule beside her. But this throne was _hers _and _hers alone_. No assassin would be taking her head tonight, no—everyone that would allow such a killer in was already gotten rid of, banished for her protection. She could protect herself, anyways. She was the strongest firebender in the Fire Nation, of course she could protect herself. She had no doubt in that.

There were times she was sitting on the throne that she wished she had a painter to paint her portrait. She bet she looked so strong, so powerful and beautiful. She was dressed in sleek, crimson robes embroidered with gold, her sleek, raven hair cascading down her back. Her robes were slightly parted near her chest, allowing a peek at her cleavage—the painter probably would have emphasized them, and she was fine with that. She was the first female Fire Lord, afterall. May as well have made it known.

Oh, how good it felt to get what she finally wanted...

* * *

**Author's Note: **Okay. I'm moving my Ozula oneshots for TrueThinker's "Ozula Week" (even though I only worked on the father/daughter aspect, NOT the shipping) over here, because it's cluttered up my page for too long. Also, for those of you that are reading this and still like to stay updated with what I do: I'm editing my some of my stories, "The Noble Truth" in particular. I also aim to finish it, because the story has been in my head for far too long.

Now, the prompt was "Harlot"; you're probably thinking that this story seems to have nothing to do with prostitutes. The first thing I thought of when I found out what this prompt was was A7X's "The Beast and The Harlot". I looked into it and discovered that 'the Harlot' refers to Babylon the Great, who was a figure of evil in the Book of Revelations. She was the epitome of evil next to the Antichrist. I found it fitting for Azula's eventual downfall... and I know it's not really that Ozula, but if you tilt your head to the side, you can kind of see it. Azula's now in Ozai's place, and is going to fall with him... but neither of them know it.


	37. Changes

**Changes  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

_The first time he looked at her..._

He held her in his arms. She was his daughter, there was no doubt about that.

A tiny replica of him and his wife, looking up at him with a smile as he held her in the morning sunlight. He could only wonder what beautiful woman she would grow up into, perhaps a prestigious noble lady or better yet, a powerful firebender. Oh, wouldn't _that _be marvelous? He could only hope. Ozai felt like he was cradling the whole world in his arms at this moment, admiring the little mind that he would expand and cultivate and enrich.

He would teach little Azula much. He would teach her astronomy, arithmetic, literature, and maybe even a bit of science. She would be an intelligent one, he could tell – the way her golden eyes sparkled like tiny flames when she looked up to the sky (or up at him, she was small, so he couldn't always tell what she was looking at. But he knew she was smart). She would be the one to cover up the mistake of his firstborn – Zuko – and prove to everyone that the Royal Family still had its prodigies. He couldn't wait to see her as she became older.

_And now every time he looks at her..._

All he can see is the face of her mother, Ursa.

_And it sickens him._


	38. Domestic

**Domestic**

She was always the perfect little girl.

The perfect little girl with the perfect little smile and the perfect little daughter. She always walked with her back straight, her chest out, her chin high—she was royalty, after all, and she made everyone know that. She would lift her nose up at dinner when it was a dish she did not like, she would step on the toes of many of the guards, and she would sneer at the peasant girls that called themselves her servants.

Whenever she was around her father, she would obey his every word. She was like his pet dragon, held on a chain leash, and whipped with fire whenever she defied him. It was through him that she had learned such divine perfection, like how to hold her tongue and look a man straight in the eye. She had learned everything from her father, the ruthless Ozai, for he knew everything.

And like a pet dragon, when she was released... She burned everything in her path... _including herself_.


	39. Stupor

**Stupor****  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

"Oh, don't worry about it, you baby," Azula sneered, holding the little wooden cup of sake. Ty Lee stared into her own cup, uncertain if she should drink it or not. "It's not going to hurt you. It's _fun_."

"I don't know, Azula... This just seems really wrong to me..." Ty Lee replied, her eyes shifting to the clear bottle sitting between them. "Don't you think your dad will notice it's missing?"

"Nah. He's probably already sitting in his chair drunk outta his mind. Now c'mon, drink it."

"Well... Okay. Bottom's up." Ty Lee tilted the wooden cup to her lips and instantly her insides were on fire. Tears welted in her eyes and she felt like her chest was going to explode. She keeled over and coughed, clutching her stomach in pain. "Oh Agni! It burns! Help me, Azula!"

But Azula didn't. Instead, she cracked up, laughing as hard as Ty Lee was coughing. "This is _too _funny! You should see how red your face is, hahaha!"

_CRASH! THWOOM! BOOM!_

Azula instantly stopped laughing and clapped a hand over Ty Lee's mouth. Down the corridor, it sounded like a most terrible monster was ravaging the palace, shouting and demanding and setting things on fire. Azula froze, listening for several seconds at the rampage going on just outside her door. Ty Lee sat up and wiped her lip.

"What's going on?" she asked. Azula's eyes were wide with such fear that Ty Lee had never seen before. Azula was even slightly shaking.

Azula didn't meet Ty Lee's eyes. She dumped the sake in her wooden cup back into the bottle, popped in the cork, and hid the two cups beneath her bed. She picked up the bottle, tiptoed out the door, and left.

Suddenly, Ty Lee understood, and Azula didn't have to say anything at all.


	40. Love The Way You Lie

**Love The Way You Lie****  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

Were his eyes deceiving him... or was this real?

Ozai stared at the girl in the cage. Her long, lank and dirty hair hung in front of her face as she sat in the corner, her back to the wall, a feral growl rising in her chest as she sensed his presence. Her wrists and ankles were bound in chains, preventing any firebending. A leather mask covered her mouth. She was the most insane – and dangerous – creature in the entire hospital.

He couldn't believe that this... No, this couldn't have been... He looked at his wife, who was standing next to him. Her arms were folded beneath her robes as she gazed at the girl in the cage, tears welling in her eyes.

"Ursa..." Ozai said slowly, looking back and forth between her and the girl in the cage. "You have to be _joking_. This _can't _be Azula. Azula was never—"

"She has your eyes," was all Ursa said. Ozai paused, and gazed back into the cage... Sure enough, beneath raggedy charcoal locks of hair, there was a pair of fierce, glistening amber eyes, piercing straight through his soul. Straight through every lie he had told her, straight through the father she had thought he was, straight through everything that had happened between them.

It disgusted him.

"Let's leave this place," he snarled. "It's depressing."

"Ozai, your daughter..."

"It's far too late to help her."

"But you're the only one that might be able to get through to her. Zuko and I-"

"_That's enough_!" Ozai shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "I will hear no more of this! That is _not _my daughter, and I _refuse _to accept that it is! I'd rather have Azula _dead_ than insane!"

And with that, Ozai walked out, slamming the door behind him and leaving Ursa standing in the hallway. She kneeled down in front of the bars.

"I'm sorry I wasn't around to teach him how to be a better father."


	41. Party Pooper

**Party Pooper****  
**_By Nikkel  
_(c) to Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino, and Bryan Konietzko

* * *

"I'm not touching anything until he's here!" the five-year-old-turning-six Azula pouted, her arms crossed as she sat the head table, a giant birthday cake sitting in front of her. The six candles flickered in the dim light. Ursa placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

"You know your father's busy, dear. You'll just have to open them without him," she said, and Azula stuck her nose up in the air.

"Forget it! If he's not here, I'm not turning six!"

"You can't defy age, Azula," interjected Mai, who stood on the other side of Azula and rolled her eyes. Azula wrinkled her nose and hopped out of her chair.

"Just watch me!" she shouted, and marched all the way to her room.


End file.
